The princess was the first to break silence.
"Come," she said, "we must not let ourselves be beaten like this. There is one thing: whatever happens, nothing shall separate us. Anything may come but that."
"Is it so?" exclaimed Paul, tenderly.
"Yes, I swear it. The prince may threaten as he likes. He shall not part me from you."
Lise spoke the words with the savage passion that she felt for her lover. At the moment she was a living proof of the physiological phenomenon which too often makes of the most distinguished woman the servile courtesan of a man whose birth, education, and sentiments would seem to part him from her.
Reassured by this sensual fervor, and feeling that his mistress was still his body and soul, Paul took her on to his knees, and as he thanked her with a thousand caresses, she went on, thrilling in his arms:
"After all, what can the prince do? We are not in Russia; I am not the daughter of one of his serfs. I have my own fortune which he, a nobleman, dare not touch. And I love you—I love you. Is it my fault? Is not it rather his fault? Look! I would rather he should know everything. I am tired of mysteries and lying. What has now happened was fated. It is better so, for now I shall be yours only and always."
Lise Olsdorf was intoxicated by her own words. She was superb in her unsatiated passion. Winding her bare arms about her lover, she was Venus herself. Her long hair floated over her marble shoulders; she was Mary Magdalene before her repentance.
"But who has betrayed us?" asked Paul Meyrin, suddenly, drawing himself gently, after a long silence, from the ardent embrace of the young woman. "Who can have given the prince such exact particulars?"
"Why, everybody," replied the princess with a smile which seemed to mean that the fact could not have been otherwise; "first of all the newspapers. This long time they have coupled your name and mine in their notices of first nights. And then, no doubt, there are some dear friends jealous of our happiness. What does it matter who it was?"