She paused, her lips refusing to utter the words.
Crescentius shook his head.
"If such were my desire, the steel of John of the Catacombs were swifter. No,—it is not like that," he continued musingly, as if testing the ground inch by inch, as he advanced. "A woman's hand must lead the youth to the fateful brink. A woman must enwrap him and entrap him; a woman must cull the hidden secrets from his heart;—a woman must make him forget time and eternity, forget the volcano, on whose crater he stands,—until the great bell of the Capitol shall toll the hour of doom for German dominion in Rome."
He paused, trembling, lest she might read and anticipate the thoughts of his heart.
But she seemed not to guess them, for with a smile she said:
"They say the boy has never loved."
"Thereon have I built my plans. Some Circe must be found to administer to him the fatal lotus,—to estrange him from his country, from his leaders, from his hosts."
"But where is one to be trusted so supremely?" she questioned.
Crescentius had anticipated the question.
"There is but one in all Rome—but one."