"You do not answer my question, fair Theodora," he spoke at last, an undertone of mockery ringing through his speech. "I grant you power over some weak fools," and Benilo glanced round the assembly, little caring for the mutter which his words raised, "but you will at least admit that there is one man in Rome at this very hour, on whom all your charms and blandishments would be wasted as a caress on cold marble."
Another deep and death-like pause ensued; then Theodora's silvery cold tones smote the profound silence with sharp retort, as goaded at last beyond forbearance by his scoffing tone she sprang to her feet.
"There is not a man in Rome," she hissed into Benilo's face, "not in Italy, not in all the world, whom I could not bend to the force of my will. Where I choose, I conquer!"
A sardonic laugh broke from Benilo's lips.
"And by what means?"
"Benilo," she flashed forth in withering contempt, "I know not what your object is in taunting me—and I care not—but by Lucifer, you go too far! Name to me a man in Rome, name whom you will, and if I fail to win him in one month—"
"What then?"
For a moment she hesitated.
"Name the wager yourself!"
An ominous smile curved Benilo's lips.