And, bending towards him, she kissed him with moist, hungry lips. He fevered in her embrace. He kissed her eyes--her hair--her lips--and a strange dizziness stole over him, a delirium in which he was no longer master of himself. "Can you not be happy, Tristan?" she whispered gently. "Happy as other men when loved as I love you!" With a cold sinking of the heart he looked into the woman's perfect face. His upturned gaze rested on the glittering serpent heads that crowned the dusky hair, and the words of Fabio of the Cavalli knocked on the gates of his memory. "Happy as other men when they love--and are deceived," he said, unable to free himself of her entwining arms. "You shall not be deceived," she returned quickly. "You shall attain that which your heart desires. Your dearest hope shall be fulfilled,--all shall be yours--all--if you will be mine--to-night." Tristan met her burning gaze, and as he did so the strange dread increased. "What of the Grand Chamberlain?" he queried. "What of Basil, your lover?" Her answer came swift and fierce, as the hiss of a snake. "He shall die--even as Roxana--even as Fabio, he who boasted of my love! You shall be lord of Rome--and I--your wife--" Her words leaped into his brain with the swift, fiery action of a burning drug. A red mist swam before his eyes. "Love!" he cried, as one seized with sudden delirium. "What have I to do with love--what have you, Theodora, who make the lives of men your sport, and their torments your mockery? I know no name for the fever that consumes me, when I look upon you--no name for the ravishment that draws me to you in mingled bliss and agony. I would perish, Theodora. Kill me, and I shall pray for you! But love--love--it recalls to my soul a glory I have lost. There can be no love between you and me!" He spoke wildly, incoherently, scarcely knowing what he said. The woman's arms had fallen from him. He staggered to his feet. A low laugh broke from her lips, which curved in an evil smile. "Poor fool!" she said in her low, musical tones, "to cast away that for which hundreds would give their last life's blood. Madman! First to desire, then to spurn. Go! And beware!" She stood before him in all her white glory and loveliness, one white arm stretched forth, her bosom heaving, her eyes aflame. And Tristan, seized with a sudden fear, fled from the pavilion, down the moonlit path as if pursued by an army of demons. A man stepped from a thicket of roses, directly into his path. Heedless of everything, of every one, Tristan endeavored to pass him, but the other was equally determined to bar his way. "So I have found you at last," said the voice, and Tristan, starting as if the ground had opened before him, stared into the face of the stranger at Theodora's board. "You have found me, my Lord Roger," he said, after recovering from his first surprise. "Here I may injure no one--you, my lord, least of all! Leave me in peace!" The stranger gave a sardonic laugh.