"Yes," she replied; "I am sorry for him as far as I can be sorry for anything. I am never actually VERY sorry for any circumstances, however grievous they may appear."
I was surprised at this avowal.
"Why, Zara," I said, "I thought you were so keenly sympathetic?"
"So I am sympathetic, but only with suffering ignorance—a dying bird that knows not why it should die—a withering rose that sees not the reason for its withering; but for human beings who wilfully blind themselves to the teachings of their own instincts, and are always doing what they know they ought not to do in spite of warning, I cannot say I am sorry. And for those who DO study the causes and ultimate results of their existence, there is no occasion to be sorry, as they are perfectly happy, knowing everything that happens to them to be for their advancement and justification."
"Tell me," I asked with a little hesitation, "what did Prince Ivan mean by saying he had seen your lover, Zara?"
"He meant what he said, I suppose," replied Zara, with sudden coldness. "Excuse me, I thought you said you were not inquisitive."
I could not bear this change of tone in her, and I clasped my arms tight about her and smiled in her face.
"You shall not get angry with ME, Zara. I am not going to be treated like poor Ivan. I have found out what you are, and how dangerous it is to admire you; but I do admire and love you. And I defy you to knock me down as unceremoniously as you did the Prince—you beautiful living bit of Lightning!"
Zara moved restlessly in my embrace, but I held her fast. At the last epithet I bestowed on her, she grew very pale; but her eyes resembled the jewels on her breast in their sheeny glitter.
"What have you found out?" she murmured. "What do you know?"