He laughed; a harsh grating laugh.
"What a charming Mary of Magdala!"
Her voice was cold as steel.
"Benilo,—I warn you—stop!"
But his rage, at finding himself baffled at the last moment, caused the Chamberlain to overstep the last limits of prudence and reserve. With the stealthy step of the tiger he drew nearer.
"You tell me in that lying, fawning voice of yours that to-morrow you will leave Rome,—to go to him? To give him the love which is mine,—mine—by the redeemed gauge of the sepulchre? And I tell you, you shall not! Mine you are,—and mine you shall remain! Though," he concluded, breathing hard, "you shall be meek enough, when, learning from my own lips what manner of saint you are, he has cast you forth in the street, among your kind! And I swear by the host, I will go to him and tell him!"
She advanced a step towards him, her eyes glowing with a feverish lustre. Her white hands were upon her bosom as if to calm its tempestuous heaving.
He heeded it not, feasting his eyes on her great beauty with the inflamed lust of the libertine.
"I will save you the trouble," she said calmly, "I will tell him myself."
"And what will you tell him? That he has espoused one of the harlot brood of Marozia, one, who has sold his honour—defiled his bed—"