What did the Emperor mean by counselling her to relax in her duties and give way to the passion of love? she asked herself. Was he putting her probity to the test, merely to ascertain of what stuff she was made? or was it only a random shot on his part, made for mere amusement, but which had unwittingly touched her deepest feelings? Did he suspect her affection for Geometrus?—but that was impossible; not a living soul knew that she loved this man, not even Geometrus himself. Had Geometrus betrayed himself in any way? Was it possible that in some unguarded moment he had spoken of his passion for her to some friend who had afterwards betrayed him to the Emperor? No, that was impossible. Geometrus would not dare to speak of that which he was prohibited from even hinting at to herself. Had some person, envious of her position, invented some tale, and carried it to Felicitas with a view of bringing about her downfall? If so, who could it be? Was it Heinrich, the German, who longed for her post, and had he done this dishonourable thing to obtain it? Then the thought crossed her mind of the possibility that the Emperor might have been saying something for himself, of which the bare idea brought the crimson to her cheeks: but this solution of the question she endeavoured promptly to dismiss, for Felicitas was already married, and to offer her, Mercia, an illicit love would be an unparalleled presumption, even from an Emperor. ‘What can have put this abominable thought into my head?’ she again asked herself. Then she rose from her seat and paced up and down her chamber with perturbed motions and flushed face. She felt that the whole thing was mystifying to a degree. At length, after much cogitation she concluded to take no further notice of the matter, for it would be undignified to seek explanations either of Geometrus or the Emperor. ‘Let me take up a position of inactivity,’ she murmured to herself, ‘I will await developments as they unfold, and shape my course accordingly.’ Did the Emperor dream of success in his endeavour to corrupt the faultless Mercia? It was, indeed, a bold step for him to take with one so high-minded, so self-controlled as she. But her very unattainability made her all the more desirable in his eyes: the more he dwelt on the futility of his wish the more violently his passion raged within him. ‘I must have Mercia!’ he exclaimed to himself as nightly he lay awake dwelling on her beauty, her goodness, and her extraordinary abilities. ‘She must be mine, I cannot live without her! I will go to her again—I will risk all, and tell her of my love. If need be, I will break down that barrier that divides us; I will not be baulked of Mercia. If she refuse to become mine secretly, I will wed her openly, and get rid of that flat-faced Russian woman whom my ministers talked me into marrying.’