He sprang to her side. A curious cold smile lit up the face of Wallenstein.
"Ottilie!" Nigel exclaimed.
She threw back her hood, rose, faced him, held out her hands—
"Ottilie is no more! I am Stephanie!"
"No more?" Nigel murmured with quivering lips. "No more?"
"Stephanie was Ottilie when she followed the star of Wallenstein, worshipped his ambition and wrought as she did even to this day for his success. But no longer! She is satisfied. She could be one with the lofty spirit of a Cæsar but not with the bargaining, bartering craft of merchant Wallenstein, who asks what reward he shall receive at the very hand that opens the gate of the Palace of Glory."
"I go to Vienna, Colonel Charteris, you to Prague. God speed you back again! Now if you will see me to my carriage I need no longer be a hindrance to the chaffering!"
It may be imagined what confusion this outburst, spoken in calm level tones, icy with suppressed passion, stirred in Nigel's mind. The pressure of her hands, the first look into his eyes, had told him that what he had ravished from a not unwilling Ottilie was his from Stephanie, Archduchess though she was, when time and season were more propitious; and the blood beat into his face.
He bowed over her hands and went towards the door to give the order to the servants.
Then the Archduchess turned to Wallenstein—