more private admiration. "But now, madam----"

"But now, Herr von Gondremark, the time for these declarations has gone
by," she cried. "Are you true to me? are you false? Look in your heart
and answer: it is your heart I want to know."

"It has come," thought Gondremark. "You, madam!" he cried, starting
back--with fear, you would have said, and yet a timid joy. "You!
yourself, you bid me look into my heart?"

"Do you suppose I fear?" she cried, and looked at him with such a
heightened colour, such bright eyes, and a smile of so abstruse a
meaning that the Baron discarded his last doubt.

"Ah, madam!" he cried, plumping on his knees. "Seraphina! Do you permit
me? have you divined my secret? It is true--I put my life with joy into
your power--I love you, love with ardour, as an equal, as a mistress, as
a brother-in-arms, as an adored, desired, sweet-hearted woman. O Bride!"
he cried, waxing dithyrambic, "bride of my reason and my senses, have
pity, have pity on my love!"

She heard him with wonder, rage, and then contempt. His words offended
her to sickness; his appearance, as he grovelled bulkily upon the floor,
moved her to such laughter as we laugh in nightmares.

"O shame!" she cried. "Absurd and odious! What would the Countess say?"

That great Baron Gondremark, the excellent politician, remained for
some little time upon his knees in a frame of mind which perhaps we are
allowed to pity. His vanity, within his iron bosom, bled and raved. If
he could have blotted all, if he could have withdrawn part, if he had
not called her bride--with a roaring in his ears, he thus regretfully
reviewed his declaration. He got to his feet tottering; and then, in
that first moment when a dumb agony finds a vent in words, and the
tongue betrays the inmost and worst of a man, he permitted himself a
retort which, for six weeks to follow, he was to repent at leisure.

"Ah," said he, "the Countess? Now I perceive the reason of your
Highness's disorder."

The lackey-like insolence of the words was driven home by a more
insolent manner. There fell upon Seraphina one of those storm-clouds
which had already blackened upon her reason; she heard herself cry out;
and when the cloud dispersed, flung the blood-stained dagger on the
floor, and saw Gondremark reeling back with open mouth and clapping his
hand upon the wound. The next moment, with oaths that she had never
heard, he leaped at her in savage passion; clutched her as she recoiled