"But you have!" she declared angrily, her eyes flashing upon me. "You have broken your oath to me."
"I have broken no oath," I answered calmly; adding, "Let us sit down and talk quietly."
"Talk quietly!" she cried, speaking rapidly in French. "Do you think I can talk quietly with ruin staring me in the face?"
"In what manner does ruin threaten you?" I inquired, placing my hand upon her arm in an effort to calm her.
She was terribly agitated, I could see, and her anger knew no bounds, although she was striving strenuously to suppress it.
"You have betrayed my secret--the secret of my love for you!" she cried.
"That letter which you promised me to destroy is in the hands of my bitterest enemy."
"Forgive me, Leonie," I cried quickly. "The letter was mysteriously stolen from that writing-table there. How, I know not."
"Cannot you even guess who is the thief?"
I hesitated. The only person I suspected was Edith, who had been the solitary occupant of that room while she waited for me. It was after her departure that I found the drawer in confusion and the letter missing.
"I have suspicion," I replied with some hesitation, "yet I feel a.s.sured it is unfounded."
"Of whom?"
"Of a friend."
"A friend of yours?" she exclaimed quickly. "Therefore, an enemy of mine. It is a woman. Come, admit it."
"I admit nothing," I answered with a forced smile, my diplomatic instinct instantly a.s.serting itself.
"Is it a woman, or is it not?" she demanded.
"I am not compelled to answer that question, Leonie," I remarked in a quiet voice.
"But having betrayed me--or rather having allowed me to be betrayed--it is surely only manly of you to endeavour to make amends!" she cried reproachfully. "Even if you do not love me sufficiently to make me your wife, that is hardly a reason why you should expose me to my enemies."
"I have not done so wilfully," I declared. "As the letter has been stolen by an enemy, I feel sure that the suspicion resting upon my friend is unfounded."
"But if the thief is a woman and she loves you, she would naturally be my enemy, and seek to overthrow me," argued the Princess logically.
"It is my fault," I said. "I regret the incident, and seek your forgiveness, Leonie. I had no idea that spies and thieves surrounded me, as apparently they do, or I would have destroyed it instead of keeping it as a cherished relic of one of the few romantic incidents of my life."
"You w"ere very foolish to keep it, just as it was foolish of me to have written it," she observed. "Cannot you see how compromised I am by it?
I have offered to betray to you a secret of State, a secret known only to kings, emperors, and their immediate advisers, in return for your love. I am self-condemned," she added wildly.
"But into whose hands has the letter pa.s.sed?" I inquired, now quite convinced of the extreme gravity of the situation.
"Into the possession of a man who is my most bitter enemy in all the world. Ah, you don"t know, Gerald, how I am suffering!"
She placed her hand upon her brow, and stood rigid and motionless.
"Why?"
"Because this man, with the evidence of my treason in his possession, is endeavouring to force me into a hateful bondage. To save myself," she added hoa.r.s.ely, "I must obey, or else--"
"Or else what?" I inquired, looking at her in astonishment.
"Or else escape exposure and ruin by another method, more swift and more to be trusted."
"I don"t understand you. What do you mean?"
"Suicide," she answered in a low, hard voice, regarding me coldly, with a truly desperate look in her eyes.
"Come, come, Leonie," I said quickly, "to talk like that is absurd."
"No, it is not in the least absurd," she protested, a heavy, serious look upon her face. "Like yourself, I am the victim of a vile conspiracy. This man has long sought to entrap me, and has, alas! now succeeded."
"For what reason?"
She remained silent, as though doubting whether to tell me the whole truth. In a few moments, however, she made a sudden resolve.
"Because he wishes to marry me," she answered briefly.
"And by holding this letter as a menace he now seeks to force you into a marriage that is distasteful?"
"Distasteful!" she echoed. "I hate and detest him! Rather than marry him I would prefer suicide."
"Why?"
"Because if I do not accept his conditions for the return of that letter he will expose me," she answered in despair.
"Has he threatened this?"
"Yes."
"And what is your response?"
"I have refused, Gerald. Even though he were not so hateful I could not marry him, because I love you."
She was trembling with agitation, and tears stood in her fine eyes.
"Love for me is out of the question, Leonie," I answered kindly, yet firmly. "Now that you find yourself in this critical situation it is for us both to strive to frustrate this enemy of yours. It is my duty to a.s.sist you."
"Ah, you cannot!" she said in a tone of utter despair. "The power he holds over me by possessing the written evidence of my treason--my offer to betray to you the secret of my Emperor--is complete, and he is well aware of it. He demands marriage with me, or he will ruin me, and brand me as a traitress to my country and my Emperor."
"This man is, of course, now aware of what pa.s.sed between us during my visit at Chantoiseau?" I said.
"He knows everything," she answered. "I was living quietly at Rudolstadt, and endeavouring to forget you, when of a sudden, a fortnight ago, there came to the castle a stranger, who sent in his card sealed in an envelope. My servants regarded him with some suspicion, and well they might, for when I opened the envelope and took out the card I knew that at last the blow had fallen. He had dared to come and seek me there."
"You saw him?"