“What are you going to do?” she asked, frightened.
“I am going to see Mirkovics, and hand the Premiership over to him. Then I shall leave Thracia as soon as possible. I promise you that you shall not be offended by the sight of me longer than I can help.”
“Cyril!” She came flying after him, and fairly dragged him from the door. “You are not to go—you shall not. Forgive me. I was so miserable I scarcely knew what I was saying. I am a wicked, ungrateful woman. What can I do to show you how sorry I am? Oh, you are not going to leave me?”
“You have said too much,” returned Cyril resolutely, unclasping her hands from his arm. “I am afraid we have been mistaken in each other, Ernestine; but what I can do to mend matters shall be done.”
“If that means that you will leave Thracia, it shall not be done,” she retorted. “I forbid you to go. You belong to me, and I will not give you up. Dear, you have not forgotten that journey of ours? You know how unreasonable and angry I was so often then, and yet you found out afterwards that I loved you even when I was most cross. Won’t you believe it now?”
“Believe it or not, I cannot stand such accusations as you are bringing against me. My meekness is not equal to the strain.”
“I am glad it isn’t. I could not have been proud of you if it was. It was despicable of me to say what I did, Cyril. I can’t expect you to forgive it, I know. Only stay here, for I cannot do without you, and then you will forgive me in time, for you will not be able to endure seeing me so miserable. Promise me, dear, promise me—just that you will stay.”
“If you are content that I should remain here without forgiving you——”
“But I am not. I shall be perfectly miserable until you do. Ah, you do forgive me. You know that it is only because I love you so much that I cannot bear anything to come between us. I am jealous of politics, Cyril; I am afraid they may separate us from one another. I know it is wrong and foolish; but it is because I love you. You will forgive me? I will try to conquer the feeling, and I will never, never say again what I did just now. Like M. Drakovics, I was mad for the moment.”
“I don’t want to seem hard on you, Ernestine—on my honour I don’t—but you make it very difficult for me to stay here. I can never feel sure that you will not take offence at some necessary move of mine and do something that will shatter my plans and make a fool of me in the face of Europe. You see what I mean?”