"Midnight meditations?" interposed the Spaniard, not knowing that he was treading on dangerous ground.
"Ask Theodora," shouted Fabio, "how many lovers are worshipping at her midnight shrine!"
The silence of utter consternation prevailed. Glances of absolute dismay went round the table, and the stillness was as ominous as the hush before a thunderclap. Fabio, apparently struck by the sudden silence, gazed lazily from out the tumbled cushions, a vacant, besotten smile upon his lips.
"What fools you are!" he shouted thickly. "Did you not hear me? I bade you ask Theodora," and suddenly he sat bolt upright, his face crimsoning as with an access of passion, "why the Lord Basil creeps in and out her palace at midnight like a skulking slave? Ask him why he creeps in disguise through the underground passage. Ay—stranger," he shouted to Tristan, "you are near enough to our lady of Witcheries. Ask her how many lovers have tasted of the chalice of oblivion?"
Another death-like silence ensued.
Even the attendants seemed to move with awed tread among the guests.
Theodora and Roxana had risen almost at the same time, facing each other in a white silence.
Roxana extended her snow-white arms towards Theodora.
"Why do you not reply to your discarded lover?" she taunted her rival. "Shall I reply for him? You have challenged me, and I return your challenge! I am your match in all things, Lady Theodora. In my veins flows the blood of kings—in yours the blood of courtesans. There is not room on earth for both of us. Does not your coward soul quail before the issue?"
Theodora turned to Roxana a face, white as marble, her eyes preternaturally brilliant. "You shall have your wish—even to the death. But—before the dark-winged messenger enfolds you with his sable wings you shall know Theodora as you have never known her—nor ever shall again."