Chapter 25: The Duchess of Naxos

I was still sitting there when somebody knocked, and, supposing it to be Smith, I said, “come in.”

Thusis entered, and I rose. We looked at each other in silence, then I set a chair for her by my table and she dropped onto it as though tired.

She wore a dark hat and a dark gown which I had never seen. Also she was gloved, another phase hitherto unfamiliar to me. And her beauty almost hurt me.

“You are not going with us?” she asked in a low voice.

“No.”

“Why not?”

“There is no reason why I should go.”

“You are not afraid to remain?”

I forced a smile.

“You choose to stay here in this house all alone with these huns?” she persisted.

“What else is there to do? Besides, they’ll leave to-morrow.”

“And then you’ll be utterly alone here.”

I nodded, smiling.

“Won’t you come with us as far as France?”

I thanked her.

“Why won’t you?”

“I think I’d be rather lonelier in France,” I said lightly, “than I might be here.”

“Will you be lonely?”

I did not answer.

“When I glanced across the table at her again she had unpinned her hat. I waited; but she tossed it from her onto my bed.

“Why do you do that?” I asked.

“I shall not leave unless you do,” she said serenely.

“That’s nonsense! I am in no danger!”

“I should be, if I left you alone here.”

“In what danger?”

“In danger—of falling a prey to—grief—Michael.”

My heart almost stopped: she was looking down at the gloves which she was slowly stripping from her wrists:

“Danger of grief,” she repeated, “of lifelong sorrow—for leaving you—here—alone ... Because, once, I gave my heart to you...”

“You were only Thusis, then,” I said, steadying my voice and senses with an effort.

“Am I less, now, in your eyes?” She lifted her head and looked at me.

“You are the Duchess of Naxos.”

She smiled faintly: “What was it you once said to me about revolutions?—about the necessity for purity of motive and absolute unselfishness for those who revolted against tyranny?”

I was silent.

“Michael?”

“Yes.”

“How can I incite my people to revolt unless my motives are entirely free from selfish interest?”

“Are they not?”

“Why do you ask me? You know that I would be Duchess of Naxos if my country regains its freedom under the Italian crown.”

“Has that influenced you?”

Her candid, sweet gaze met mine: “I think it has.”

And, as I said nothing, “I hadn’t quite considered it in that light,” she said. “I thought my motives were pure. Besides, I really am hereditary Duchess of Naxos—if ever there is to be such a Duchy again.” She laughed a little. “A phantom ruler in a phantom realm. It must amuse you, Michael.”

“It may all come to pass,” said I.

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Monsieur Venizelos does not wish it. Nor does the King of Italy. Also I am afraid that Naxos is really quite contented under the Greek flag, now that Constantino is exiled and because, moreover, that same flag flies beside the flags of England, France, and Italy ... No, Michael, there will be no revolution now in Naxos; no Duchy, no Duchess ... And,” she rose and looked at me, and stretched out one fair hand, “come into France with me, Michael ... I can’t leave my heart here with you unless I stay here, too ... I can’t become disembodied and float off to France leaving heart and mind and body and soul here—in your arms—in the arms of the man I—love ... Can I, dear Michael?—Can I my dear lover?—my dearest—my beloved——”