"Do you think, princess," I said, slowly, "that if Stanislaus were
alive, he would approve of such a method of taking revenge for the
wrong done to him, and to his sister?" I asked the question
impersonally, and without any resentment in my tone, or manner. Indeed,
I felt none. We were referring to a possibility that was now as far in
the past as were the incidents of the story she had related. But I
desired to probe that other side of her, the vengeful one, as deeply as
possible, and when she did not reply, I added: "Do you think he would
have rested contentedly in his grave, if you had become the wife of the
man who wronged him most, no matter what your purpose might be?"
"No," she said. "I do not. But I had not thought of it in that light. I
remembered only Yvonne--and him."
"Zara, did you love Stanislaus?"
She sighed deeply. She raised her eyes to mine, and she stretched forth
a tentative hand for me to clasp, and hold. My touch gave her a sense
of personal protection.
"How you probe the innermost secrets of one's heart, Dubravnik," she
smiled at me. "I will tell you the truth, and the whole truth. It is
because I never loved him, because I never knew and appreciated his
worth, until he was dead, that I believed that I could not live and
bear the thought that he should continue unavenged, while Alexis
Durnief, the perpetrator of such outrages, appeared boldly here at St.
Petersburg, and even dared to make love to me. I was a girl then, and I
did not appreciate all the love that was lavished upon me. I am a woman
now, and you have taught me what love is. I am not the same creature,
now, that I was a few short hours ago. You have changed the world for
me, for you have made what was once a hell, a heaven of sweet
thoughts."
"Zara, had you already abandoned the insane idea of becoming Durnief's
wife, before we referred to it, now?"
"Yes, I never really entertained it. It only occurred to me as a means
of accomplishing an end. I hate the man so, for all he did to Yvonne;
and when he dared to raise his hopes to me, knowing that I had been her
nearest and dearest friend, knowing also that I was once pledged to
Stanislaus, I was filled with a bitter hatred more terrible than words
can describe. Oh, if you knew the bitterness of one who is used only
for a tool, because she happens to possess beauty. But you cannot know;
you cannot guess."
"True, I do not know; but I can guess. Remember, I heard what you said
to your brother, on this same subject, in the garden."