Slowly Theodora arose. She was pale as death. Her guests, too much engaged with their beautiful partners, had been attracted to her plight but by her sudden outcry.
They stared sullenly at the dead man and turned to their former pursuits.
Theodora clapped her hands.
Two giant Nubians appeared. She pointed to the corpse at her feet. They raised it up between them, carried it out and sank it in the Lotus lake. Others wiped away the stains of blood.
Basil bent over Theodora's hands, and covered them with kisses, muttering words of endearment which but increased the discord in her heart.
She released herself, resuming her seat on the dais.
"It is the old fever," she turned to the man beside her. "You purchase and I sell! Nay"—she added as his lips touched her own—"there is no need for a lover's attitude when hucksters meet."
Though the guests had returned to their seats, a strange silence had fallen upon the assembly. The rhythmical splashing of the water in the fountain and the labored breathing of the distressed wine-Bibbie's seemed the only sounds that were audible for a time.
"But I love you, Theodora," Basil spoke with strangely dilated eyes. "I love you for what you are, for all the evil you have wrought! You, alone! For you have I done this thing! For you Alberic lies dead in some unknown glen. For you have I summoned about us those who shall seat you in the high place that is yours by right of birth."
Theodora was herself again. With upraised hand, that shone marble white in the ever-changing light, she enjoined silence.