“Indeed,” he returned, with a smile of underlying resolve, “we must be more than that.”
“Must?” She repeated the word with a little scornful laugh. Then with more dignity, “You surely forget yourself to say that to me.”
“Shall I tell you,” he spoke more humbly, “why I used the word?”
Her only answer was a shrug of impatience, indifference.
“It was,” he continued, “because I feel certain, am absolutely convinced that you and I, united, would be a great power in this world of ours. That there are no two people living to-day whose alliance would lead to a more splendid position. When I speak of power, I mean intellectual, social, political; a power in everything that could work for the good we should choose; in a very few years our influence would be unbounded, our wealth and position more than sufficient for every aim. This is not the mere vapouring of a man’s vanity. I know and feel my power, it would be absurd affectation to shut my eyes to what I have already accomplished. Take but one instance. When lately I was lying half-dead on a couch from which I never thought to rise, I made another man’s career, young Herriard’s; pushed him, without an effort, in a whim of mere gratitude for a slight service rendered me, pushed him into a brilliant position, as easily as I could move a piece on a chess-board. You know that?”
“Yes; I understand that,” she answered, almost mechanically.
“So I am justified,” Gastineau resumed, his pleading growing more urgent, “in saying that, now my health is restored, nothing can stop me; the force that drives me through the throng of my fellows is irresistible. If only you were by my side, the world would be at our feet; since, allied, we should represent the great forces that have ever moved, will ever move it. Countess—Alexia, forgive my boldness when I tell you that we, you and I, have no right, it would be an act of short-sighted folly, to throw ourselves away on inferior mates. You must know this, you who are so clever, who can read men and the world; I cannot imagine that you can be blind to the hideous mistake you would commit in allying yourself to a mere puppet, a weakling, the simulacrum of a man, such as Geoffrey Herriard.”
“Mr. Gastineau,” Alexia interrupted him with scarcely restrained indignation. “I can listen to this language no longer.”
“But you must, Countess,” he returned insistently. “I am bound to put the question, the chance of your future with its unparalleled prospects, before you plainly, even at the risk of offence. I have in this touched only on the worldly reasons for our alliance, intruding no word of love; of mine which fills my whole being, making me your slave, your adoring worshipper; of yours which I feel in my heart will come to be mine one day. Countess, can you reject me now? Have I not been frank, and laid bare my heart and very soul and the terrible secret of my life before you? Alexia, put away all these vain fancies and prejudices; accept the power, the empire which I cast at your feet, and tell me you will be my wife.” As the note of passion deepened he tried, making a swift approach, to clasp her in his arms, but she drew herself up proudly and repulsed him.
“Alexia,” he urged, desperately intent, “I will give you power beyond every other woman in the kingdom, I will raise you to a height more dazzling than you dream of. It shall be my one object in life, I swear it. Don’t, don’t reject me. Think what you refuse. Oh,” he cried, almost savagely, as her attitude grew even more repelling, “tell me what it is that makes you hate me so. Have I not confessed the truth to you, and purged the taint of blood-guiltiness from my soul? Alexia,” he demanded, with passionate fierceness, “tell me! You shall tell me.”