“My lady, shall I speak?” she asked.
“Certainly. The best thing you can possibly do now is to tell the whole truth,” said Zoe bitterly. The girl ignored the bitterness, and addressed herself exclusively to her.
“Lady mine, I have deceived you in calling myself Kalliopé, as I deceived the Lady in calling myself Eurynomé. That I deceived you, I am sorry, but as for deceiving her, it was a good deed, and I do not regret it. I am the elder daughter of my father, who is called the Despot of Strio, and I dwelt there in his house until the early part of this year. Then there came to the island the man Petros, who had been summoned by my father on account of certain things he had heard, on which he desired Petros to assure him. But Petros could only confirm to him the truth of the rumours that had reached him concerning my brother, namely, that he was held in the toils of an evil woman, a schismatic by race, who had bewitched him so deeply that he scorned the daughters of all the kings of Europe for her sake. In the old days, my father would have commanded his son to repair to Strio, and would have taken from him this woman who called herself his wife, and put her to death before his eyes, after forcing her to release him from her spells, not permitting him to depart until an Orthodox marriage had been made for him—but those days are no longer with us. So my father gave Petros orders to bring the woman to Strio, where she should be safely kept, and made to set my brother free. Once she herself had released him, there would be no more danger. But it was necessary, since my brother guarded her so carefully, for one to be inside her house who should help Petros to enter, and I offered to be that one. Lady, why do you look at me as though I had done ill? I sought only to deliver my brother from the toils of a witch.”
“How can I help it?” cried Zoe. “That you—you, who have been with us all these months, who seemed really fond of the children, should have helped to commit a cold-blooded murder, to kill your own sister-in-law—oh, it is too horrible!”
“She was not my sister-in-law, lady,” with extreme horror. “She was a witch—even, perhaps,” Danaë dropped her voice, “a vampire.”
“She was the best and loveliest of women!” cried Prince Romanos; “and you, with your vile superstitions, are not fit to carry her shoes!”
“I thought she was a vampire!” said Danaë, with a certain gloomy satisfaction. “It is not enough to kill them; they retain their power when they seem to be dead, as you would know well, lord, if her spell was not over you.”
“Kalliopé, be quiet; you make my heart sick,” cried Zoe. “Don’t—don’t say you helped to do this awful thing!”
“You will not understand, my lady,” said Danaë patiently; “I did not want her killed, for then the effect of her spells would remain, as it does now. She must be made to remove them of her own free will. You are too kind, lady. If you lived among us, you would know that it is wrong and foolish to be gentle with witches and vampires. You must make your heart hard, thinking of the victims who have to be delivered from them. That is what my father would have done, but his plans went wrong through the men whom Petros engaged to help him carry off the Lady.”
“We shall get no sense out of this girl,” said the Cavaliere gloomily. “Can’t she speak the plain truth?”