Prince, flushing a little
darker, 'there can be here no talk of gratitude, none of pride. You are
here, by what circumstance I know not, but doubtless led by your
kindness, mixed up in what regards my family alone. You have no
knowledge what my wife, your sovereign, may have suffered; it is not for
you--no, nor for me--to judge. I own myself in fault; and were it
otherwise, a man were a very empty boaster who should talk of love and
start before a small humiliation. It is in all the copybooks that one
should die to please his lady-love; and shall a man not go to prison?'

'Love? And what has love to do with being sent to gaol?' exclaimed the
Countess, appealing to the walls and roof. 'Heaven knows I think as much
of love as any one; my life would prove it; but I admit no love, at least
for a man, that is not equally returned. The rest is moonshine.'

'I think of love more absolutely, madam, though I am certain no more
tenderly, than a lady to whom I am indebted for such kindnesses,'
returned the Prince. 'But this is unavailing. We are not here to hold a
court of troubadours.'

'Still,' she replied, 'there is one thing you forget. If she conspires
with Gondremark against your liberty, she may conspire with him against
your honour also.'

'My honour?' he repeated. 'For a woman, you surprise me. If I have
failed to gain her love or play my part of husband, what right is left
me? or what honour can remain in such a scene of defeat? No honour that
I recognise. I am become a stranger. If my wife no longer loves me, I
will go to prison, since she wills it; if she love another, where should
I be more in place? or whose fault is it but mine? You speak, Madame von
Rosen, like too many women, with a man's tongue. Had I myself fallen
into temptation (as, Heaven knows, I might) I should have trembled, but
still hoped and asked for her forgiveness; and yet mine had been a
treason in the teeth of love. But let me tell you, madam,' he pursued,
with rising irritation, 'where a husband by futility, facility, and
ill-timed humours has outwearied his wife's patience, I will suffer
neither man nor woman to misjudge her. She is free; the man has been
found wanting.'

'Because she loves you not?' the Countess cried. 'You know she is
incapable of such a feeling.'

'Rather, it was I who was born incapable of inspiring it,' said Otto.

Madame von Rosen broke into sudden laughter. 'Fool,' she cried, 'I am in
love with