The Chevalier started, thrilled and almost appalled by the violence of
her passion.
"I do pray," she cried. "Every fibre in me tingles with the prayer. Oh,
I hate him! Why did you give him leave to rescue her?"
"Could I refuse? I did delay him; I did hesitate. Only to-day Gaydon
receives the passport, and even so I have delayed too long. Indeed,
Maria, I dare not think of the shame, the danger, her Highness has
endured for me, lest my presence here, even for this farewell, should
too bitterly reproach me."
At that all Maria Vittoria's vehemence left her. She fell to beseechings
and entreaties. With her vehemence went also her dignity. She dropped
upon her knees and dragged herself across the room to him. To James her
humility was more terrible than her passion, for passion had always
distinguished her, and he was familiar with it; but pride had always
gone hand in hand with it. He stepped forward and would have raised her
from the ground, but Maria would have none of his help; she crouched at
his feet pleading.
"You told me business would call you to Spain. Go there! Stay there! For
a little--oh, not for long! But for a month, say, after your Princess
comes triumphing into Bologna. Promise me that! I could not bear that
you should meet her as she comes. There would be shouts; I can hear
them. No, I will not have it! I can see her proud cursed face a-flush.
No! You think too much of what she has suffered. If I could have
suffered too! But suffering, shame, humiliation, these fall to women,
always have fallen. We have learnt to bear them so that we feel them
less than you. My dear lord, believe me! Her suffering is no great
thing. If we love we welcome it! Each throb of pain endured for love
becomes a thrill of joy. If I could have suffered too!"
It was strange to hear this girl with the streaming eyes and tormented
face bewail her fate in that she had not won that great privilege of
suffering. She knelt on the ground a splendid image of pain, and longed
for pain that she might prove thereby how little a thing she made of it.
The Chevalier drew a stool to her side and seating himself upon it
clasped her about the waist. She laid her cheek upon his knee just as a
dog will do.
"Sweetheart," said he, "I would have no woman suffer a pang for me had I
my will of the world. But since that may not be, I do not believe that
any woman could be deeper hurt than you are now."