“This shrine is sacred, even to him,” Perpetua asserted, wearing a greater confidence than she felt.
Lycabetta laughed stealthily. Hildebrand shrugged his shoulders.
“You talk briskly, but you cannot make and mend the world at your maid’s pleasure. I alone can save you from the King.”
“How can you save me?” Perpetua asked him. She was undaunted, but she thought to gain time.
“Very simply,” Hildebrand answered; “I desire your favors more than the King’s favor, and if you will give me yourself I will take care of what is mine own.”
“You are a faithful servant,” Perpetua said, in scorn.
Hildebrand waved her scorn away dispassionately with his delicate white hands.
“I wear no fetters. If the King irks me I will drive my dagger between his ribs, and make myself king in Sicily. I think a change in the dynasty would not be unpopular in the island. Why, I will do this to-night to please you, and make you my queen if you will.”
“You are baser than your master.” Perpetua flung the words at him.
Hildebrand heard them unmoved. “I am what I am. Will you come to me?”