"Let that be my affair, my lord, but--that everything may be clear between us--know this: when I summoned him, after he had spurned me on the night when I intended to make him the happiest of men, it was to torture him, to make a mock of him, to arouse his passions till they overmastered all else, till in very truth he forgot his God, his honor, and the woman for whose kisses he does such noble penance--but now--" "But now?" came the echo from Basil's lips. "Who says I shall not?" Theodora replied with her inscrutable smile. "Who shall gainsay me? You--my lord?" There was a strange light in Basil's eyes, kindled by her mockery. "And when he kneels at your feet, drunk with passion--laying bare his soul in his mad infatuation--who shall prevent this dagger from drinking his heart's blood, even as he peers into the portals of bliss?" Theodora's eyes flashed lightnings. "I shall kill you with my own hands, if you but dare but touch one hair of his head," she said with a calm that was more terrible than any outburst of rage would have been. "He is mine, to do with as I choose, and look well to it, my lord, that your shadow darken not the path between us.--Else I shall demand of you such a reckoning as none who may hear of it in after days shall dare thwart Theodora--either in love or in hate." Basil's writhing form swayed to and fro; passion-tossed he tried in vain to speak when she raised her hand. With a gesture of baffled wrath and rage Basil bowed low. A sudden light leaped into his eyes as he raised her hand to his lips. Then he retreated into the shadow of the kiosk. A moment later Tristan came within view, walking as one in a trance. Mechanically he passed towards the banquet hall. Then he paused, seeming to wait for some signal from within. A hand stole into his and drew him resistlessly into the shadows. "Why do you linger here? Behold where the moonlight calls." "Where is your mistress?" Tristan turned to the Circassian. A strange smile played on Persephoné's lips. "She awaits you in yonder kiosk," she replied, edging close to him. "Take care you do not thwart her though--for to-day she strikes to kill." "It is well," Tristan replied. "It must come, and will be no more torture now than any other time." Persephoné gave a strange smile, then she led him through a cypress avenue, at the remote end of which the marble kiosk gleamed white in the moonlight. Pointing to it with white outstretched arm she gave him a mock bow and returned to the palace.