He had betrayed Jewish interests in vain, and now that it suited Scythia to throw him over, he stood revealed in all his baseness as a faithless agent and an unsuccessful traitor. Through this indictment, couched in terms which did not err on the side of refinement, Cyril glanced carelessly, and, having read it, handed it back to the Princess. “Well, what have you to say?” she asked him. “I am utterly at a loss, madame. I have nothing to say.” “What, Count! you don’t even feel called upon to testify the slightest sorrow for the way in which my name is involved in your proceedings?--for it is impossible for any one not to see who is meant.” “Ah, madame, my assailant has displayed a scrupulous regard for your feelings. You are the conqueror throughout, not the victim.” “Then you accept the _rôle_ of victim, Count?” “Even so, madame. What can I do but acknowledge your triumph and ask your gracious leave to retire? A discredited traitor is no fit associate for your Royal Highness.” “Stop, Count! You have carried on this farce long enough. Why pretend to take the man’s nonsense seriously? You know as well as I do that whoever may have been deceived, you were not.” “What, madame! Are you trying to restore my lost self-esteem! to re-establish your empire over me, according to Dr Texelius?” Cyril was smiling. “Pray, Count, be serious. What is the object of raising a new barrier between us at this moment, when this kind enemy of yours has unintentionally broken them all down? The hero and heroine occupy the stage, every eye is fixed upon them, and the stupid audience, which thinks it has followed the play with the deepest attention, anticipates what it imagines to be the _dénoûment_. But it is mistaken, for it has failed to see what was before its eyes. The true _dénoûment_ is the simplest, the most unconventional possible--all honour to the actors who have grafted it on so hackneyed a plot.” “I fear I am very dense, madame. Am I to understand that you and I have been acting some comedy for the edification of the spectators? or should it be a tragedy?” “Why play upon words, Count? A tragedy is what the audience expected, undoubtedly, for the fall of a great man is far more tragic than his death, but the slightest possible alteration in the original _motif_ makes a happy ending not only natural, but inevitable.” “My stupidity is colossal, madame. Might I venture to entreat you to point out to me the alteration to which you refer?” “Are you trying to tease me, Count? The audience saw only a pair of politicians, each striving to outwit the other. But on the stage were a man and woman playing into each other’s hands.” “With reference to what, madame?” “You are indeed dense, my dear Count.” There was some irritation in the Princess’s tone. “You force me to speak with disagreeable plainness. They were playing for a crown and a ring. But why this extraordinary display of ignorance in a matter you have discussed with me for weeks?”