‘Geometrus!’ he scoffingly repeated. ‘And dost thou place that poltroon before me? Am I to be flouted for him?’ ‘His love is honourable, and thine is not; therein lies the difference, my Sire,’ she answered soothingly, with a view of bringing him to reason. ‘But my love _shall be made_ honourable, Mercia. I will get a divorce, and thou shalt fill the Empress’s place—aye, and fill it far away better than she has ever done! I hate her—curse her!’ And he ground his teeth in rage at the thought of his wretched inability to accomplish what he was so loudly boasting of. ‘But I cannot rob another woman of her husband: I would not defraud the meanest in thy realm, much less thine Empire’s highest lady.’ ‘It is not robbery, Mercia, she doth not own my heart, and never did! I was cozened into that marriage by my cousin Osbert—curse him—curse him for a meddling fool!’ ‘He, doubtless, did it for the best. The whole of thy Cabinet approved, so did the nation. It is a new thing for me to learn that our Emperor lives unhappily with his spouse—I cannot understand it.’ ‘I never felt the chains gall till now, Mercia. A quiet indifference kept me content until thy beauty set my heart a-beating with a new joy. I knew not love till mine eyes dwelt upon thy loveliness, and mine ears listened to the words that flowed from thy lips like a sweet, rippling fountain, whose waters gave forth a pure, clear, life-giving stream. Yes, I have drunk therein, and am filled with new emotions—new joys—new hopes—new life!’ He clasped his hands in an ecstasy of happiness, as at that supreme moment he gave rein to the powerful impulses that swayed him. ‘Now is my beauty an evil thing, and a curse to me!’ cried Mercia, at the moment bowing her head in deep dejection, and hiding her face in her hands. ‘Would I had never been born, or that nature had shaped me uncomely, for then this misfortune could not have overtaken me! Two men desire me, and I may not have either. I must live in a world filled, like a garden with flowers—flowers and blossoms of love; yet I may not touch them; their fragrance is not for me; not one may I wear on my breast! Yet, they nod and beckon me to pluck them: they offer me the incense of their being, and would fain spend their full fragrance upon me; for their desire is to nestle on my bosom, and give me the joy of their beauty and love.’ She spoke as one entranced, who ignoring all listeners felt naught of the presence of another. For the moment her anguish was her only companion, which the presence of Felicitas could not restrain. It was the bursting wail of a heart kept long in subjection and unnatural restriction, which now claimed its rights. Thus did the longing for love bring sorrow to Mercia, such sorrow as she had never before tasted.