“Simply a man she has injured. I treat her as she treated Ernestine.”
“As you treated Ernestine, you mean. Your hands are no cleaner than hers. It was your wounded ambition that enabled her to separate you from the Queen.”
“I don’t deny it, Princess. I behaved like a brute, I know—possibly like a fool, which is worse. But she has ruined young Michael, inflicted enormous injury upon Thracia, and hunted Ernestine rancorously from place to place.”
“You gave her the opportunity of doing it all. And think; you speak of returning to Ernestine. Would she wish you to avenge her wrongs in this way?”
“Certainly not; but then I don’t do it to gratify her. I tell you, Princess, a few days ago I had almost decided to be satisfied with the political portion of my revenge, and to forego the rest of it. Then the woman took it into her head to boast in my presence of her cruelty to Ernestine—to flaunt her own insolent charms in contrast with Ernestine’s misery—intending, I suppose, to complete her conquest of me; and I swore that she should have no mercy, since she showed none. That is why I am going on to the bitter end.”
“But how can you expect a blessing on what you are doing?”
Cyril’s momentary fury cooled into mild impatience. “My dear Princess, I am not in search of a blessing. What I want is revenge.”
“Think what sorrow you have brought upon Queen Ernestine already. Can you—dare you—expose her, when your lives are linked together, to the retribution which must follow upon this plot of yours?”
“I can bear my own punishment, Princess. It would be a singularly unjust dispensation of Providence that visited my sins on Ernestine. I fancy that had not occurred to you, had it?”
“Her love for you will make your punishment hers. She would not escape it if she could. Do you forget that the Princess of Dardania is an unscrupulous and vindictive woman? She is not likely to allow herself to be slighted with impunity, and she may make your life with Ernestine a misery to both of you.”