Wylie stepped between them just in time. “In Europe we do not strike women, Prince,” he said.
Held back by the strong hand, Prince Romanos stood panting, his hands twitching and his face working convulsively. With an effort, he regained the mask of civilisation, which had fallen from him for a moment and revealed the fierce islander under the cosmopolitan exterior. With a gesture of the deepest contrition he turned to his father-in-law.
“Cavaliere, I can say no more. Do what you will; say what you will. Denounce me throughout Europe as the murderer of the woman I would have given my life to save. I will offer no defence; none is possible. I am her murderer—by the hands of my merciless father and of this fury who calls herself my sister.”
“But is she your sister really?” gasped Zoe.
“I suppose so,” he replied indifferently. “I know nothing of my father’s present family, except that he has two daughters. Second marriages are held in low esteem among us, as you know. But from what I know of my father I imagine the story must be true.”
Professor Panagiotis, unmoved by the storm raging around him, had been making notes on his papers. Now he looked up and spoke calmly.
“Your Highnesses, it seems to me that this revelation has come at a most opportune moment. I can hardly believe that either the Cavaliere Pazzi or Prince Theophanis will wish to take advantage of this surrender on the part of my master. His natural horror on finding himself betrayed by his nearest relations has made him forgetful of the interests alike of his son and of Emathia. Monsieur,” he turned to the Cavaliere, “I imagine you are now convinced of the Prince’s innocence?”
“I see a possibility of it,” was the reluctant reply, “but his defence is very nearly incredible.”
“Not if you were better acquainted with our people, monsieur. If the Lady Danaë will be so good as to tell us her story in detail, I think you will be forced to believe it.”
He turned deferentially to Danaë, who looked at Zoe.