“Yes, to the great edification of Drakovics,” returned Cyril.
“What does M. Drakovics signify? I am not afraid of him.”
“Very well, dear. If you are indifferent to the consequences of his knowing our secret, it is not for me to shrink from them.”
“Now you are unkind again. What do you mean?”
“Will you let me speak plainly, dear? I don’t want to be unkind; but I must try to make you understand the difficulties that beset us. Since returning to Bellaviste I have seen more and more clearly the awkwardness of our position.”
“I don’t understand.” Ernestine had grown very pale, and she drew herself away from him as she began to perceive that his backwardness as a lover was due to policy rather than to timidity; but Cyril did not flinch—
“I am afraid we can scarcely flatter ourselves that you have given Drakovics much reason to love you, can we, dearest? Hitherto I have imagined that prudence would keep him friendly with me, but since returning from Tatarjé I find that this is not the case. He evidently regards me as the obstacle which prevents him from attaining supreme power, and he would stick at nothing to remove me from his path. Now do you see why this is the most unpropitious moment possible for giving him a handle against me?”
“But—but you say I have betrayed you already,” she faltered.
“No, dear; it is not quite so bad as that, though I could have wished it had not happened. You have betrayed yourself,” Ernestine’s white face become crimson as she covered it with her hands; “but Drakovics can hardly make himself objectionable because you have done me the honour to care for me. If he tries it on, I will make it hot for him.”
“Then you don’t intend to try and obtain an alteration of the Constitution?” The misery in her eyes would have made most men promise to tear the Constitution to shreds if she would only look happy again, but Cyril was made of sterner stuff.