er, when you gave
up yourself. She could have saved you. She could save you still--by a
word. But she will not speak it. She appeared to love me a little once.
I was not deceived. I knew. She loves you a little now. Why do you
deceive yourself, my friend? There is only one person for whom she has a
permanent and deep affection--for her very charming self."

The words fell into the silence of the bare room. Michael's thin hands,
tightly clenched, shook a little.

The duke bent towards him.

"Is she worth it?" he said, with sudden passion.

No answer. Michael hid his face in his hands.

"Is she worth it?" said the duke again.

Michael looked up suddenly at the duke, and the elder man winced at the
expression in his face. He looked through the duke, through his veiled
despair and disillusion, beyond him.

"Yes, she is worth it," he said. "You do not understand her because you
only love her in part. I meant to serve her by leaving Rome, but now I
can't leave it. What I can do for her I will. It is no sacrifice--I am
glad to do it--to have the chance. I have always wished--to serve
her--to put my hands under her feet."

The sudden radiance in Michael's face passed. He looked down
embarrassed, annoyed with himself.

"There remains then but one other person to be considered," said the
duke, looking closely at him. "The beautiful heroine, the young lover,
these are now accommodated. All is _en regle_. But that dull elderly
person who takes the _role_ of husband on these occasions! Is there not
a husband somewhere? What of him? Will he indeed fold his arms as on the
stage? Will he indeed stand by as serenely as you suppose and suffer an
innocent man to make this sacrifice for the sake of his--honour?"

"He will, only because he must," said Michael, catching his breath. "I
had thought of that. He can do nothing. Have I not accused myself? And
his honour is also hers. They stand and fall together."

[Illustration: "'IS SHE WORTH IT?' HE SAID WITH SUDDEN PASSION"]

"They stand and fall together," said the duke slowly. "Yes, that is
true. And he is old. He is finished. He is the head of a great house.
His honour is perhaps the only thing that still means anything to
him. Nevertheless, it is strange to me that you think he would consent
to keep it at so great a cost, the cost perhaps of twenty years. That
were impossible.... He could not permit _that_. But--one little year--at
most. That perhaps his conscience might per