“A means to an end? Is not that the reason of all good companionship? What better end than pleasure?”
Though the voice and half confidential manner thrilled him almost to intoxication, he knew that the words were quibbling and insincere, that the woman was fighting for her lover with every wit sharpened by the exigency of the situation. But that merely spurred his determination to pursue this forlorn hope. At least, sincere or insincere, she was giving him a lead; who could blame him if he followed it? And, after all, if nothing better came of it, retaliation lay that way. Even an august princess should not make him foot this fool’s dance without paying the piper.
“The pleasure, my Princess,” he replied craftily, “may be one-sided.”
She gave him a quick, offended glance. “How do you mean? One-sided?”
“Do not misunderstand me,” he pursued. “I should have said disproportionate. The slight pleasure which you are gracious enough to acknowledge, my Princess, may be a dear joy, a terrible pleasure to me.”
If its origin was in craft, he felt as he looked at her that the sentiment was true enough. It was, indeed, a dangerous beauty; one to hurry a man to the pit of despair; and as he drank it in he found himself vowing it should not be so with him.
They had left the great Hall of Audience and were in one of the smaller of the state reception rooms. So far her purpose was accomplished, and one of the spies held safe where he could work no harm.
“You take,” she said, “the matter too seriously.”
“Can any one blame me for that, gracious Princess?” he returned, feeling his way cautiously since he knew well her power of setting presumption down.
“Of course I am to blame,” she suggested, hiding with a smile her distaste for the business she was about.