Benilo alone had retreated to its extreme end, where he allowed himself to drop into a divan, which had just been deserted by a couple, who had been swept away by the whirling Bacchanale. Here he sat for some time, his face buried in his hands, when looking up suddenly he found himself face to face with Hezilo.
"I have done it," he muttered, "and I fear I have gone too far!"
He paused, scanning the harper's face for approval. Its expression he could not see, but there was no shade of reproof in the voice which answered:
"At best you have but erred in the means."
"I wished to break her pride, to humble her, and now the tables are turned; it is I, who am grovelling in the dust."
"No woman was by such means ever wooed or won," the harper replied after a brief pause. "Theodora will win the wager. But whether she win or lose, she will despise you for ever more!"
Benilo pressed his hands against his burning temples.
"My heart is on fire! The woman maddens me with her devilish charms, until I am on the verge of delirium."
"You have been too pliant! You have become her slave! Her foot is on your neck! You have lost yourself! Better a monstrous villain, than a simpering idiot, who whines love-ditties under his lady's bower and bellows his shame to the enduring stars! Dare to be a man,—despite yourself!"
So absorbed was Benilo in his own thoughts, that the biting irony of the other's speech was lost upon him.