“You play the fool with me!” he said, and advanced upon her only to recoil as she slipped her hand to her girdle and drew the long, keen knife that rested there.
“Keep away from me!” she warned him. “For I am strong and young, and I might kill you.” Her face was pitifully pale now in its great sorrow, but the determination in her eyes menaced more than steel.
“I think I could master you,” Robert sneered, but he kept his place, watching her.
“Then you should kill me,” Perpetua sighed. “And that might be best, for you have destroyed my beautiful dream.”
She turned as she spoke, and, casting her weapon from her, to fall upon the soft grass, she ran into the wood. For a moment the King stood still, stupidly conscious of the humming of the bees, stupidly staring after the flying child. Then he stirred himself into pursuit, crying, “Stay, fool, stay!” but desisted instantly, for the girl was as fleet as a fawn, and could run surely where his feet would stumble. Already she was out of sight in the thick of the trees.
“Go, fool, go!” he shouted. “If you are crazy enough to repel greatness!” And flinging himself upon the fallen column, he buried his face in his hands to keep back the bitter tears.