“I will answer you to-morrow,” she said.  “Be patient till then.”

And as she spoke, she released herself determinedly from the clasp of his arms and withdrew to a little distance, looking at him with a fixed and searching scrutiny.

“Do not preach patience to me!” he exclaimed with a laugh.  “I never had that virtue, and I certainly cannot begin to cultivate it now.”

“Had you ever any virtues?” she asked in a playful tone of something like satire.

He shrugged his shoulders.

“I do not know what you consider virtues,” he answered lightly:  “If honesty is one, I have that.  I make no pretence to be what I am not.  I would not pass off somebody else’s picture as my own, for instance.  But I cannot sham to be moral.  I could not possibly love a woman without wanting her all to myself, and I have not the slightest belief in the sanctimonious humbug of a man who plays the Platonic lover only.  But I don’t cheat, and I don’t lie.  I am what I am. ...”

“A man!” said Ziska, a lurid and vindictive light dilating and firing her wonderful eyes.  “A man!—­the essence of all that is evil, the possibility of all that is good!  But the essence is strong and works; the possibility is a dream which dissolves in the dreaming!”

“Yes, you are right, ma chere!” he responded carelessly.  “Goodness—­as the world understands goodness—­never makes a career for itself worth anything.  Even Christ, who has figured as a symbol of goodness for eighteen hundred years, was not devoid of the sin of ambition:  He wanted to reign over all Judaea.”

“You view Him in that light?” inquired Ziska with a keen look.  “And as man only?”

“Why, of course!  The idea of an incarnate God has long ago been discarded by all reasoning thinkers.”

“And what of an incarnate devil?” pursued Ziska, her breath coming and going quickly.

“As impossible as the other fancy!” he responded almost gayly.  “There are no gods and no devils, ma belle!  The world is ruled by ourselves alone, and it behoves us to make the best of it.  How will you give me my answer to-morrow?  When shall I see you?  Speak low and quickly,—­Dr. Dean is coming in here from the garden:  when—­when?”

“I will send for you,” she answered.

“At what hour?”

“The moon rises at ten.  And at ten my messenger shall come for you.”

“A trustworthy messenger, I hope?  One who knows how to be silent?”

“As silent as the grave!” she said, looking at him fixedly.  “As secret as the Great Pyramid and the hidden tomb of Araxes!”

And smiling, she turned to greet Dr. Dean, who just then entered the saloon.

“Denzil has gone to bed,” he announced.  “He begged me to excuse him to you, Princess.  I think the boy is feverish.  Egypt doesn’t agree with him.”

“I am sorry he is ill,” said the Princess with a charming air of sympathy.