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"But he is curious," she pursued, fixing a patiently speculative eye on Wetter. "You would say that he was fond of me?" "It is a possible reason for his presence." "He doesn't show it," said she, with a shrug. I understood that little point in Wetter's code; besides, his humour seemed just now too bitter for love-making. If Coralie felt any resentment, it did not go very deep.
It was almost daylight now, but there was still a grayness in the atmosphere that exactly matched the tint of Wetter's face. Noticing this suddenly I pointed it out to him, laughing violently. "You are Lucifer, Son of the Morning," I cried. "How art thou fallen from heaven, O Lucifer, Son of Morning!" "I wouldn't care for that if I had the trick of falling soft," said he.
For a moment her face was full of terror as she turned to me; then she broke into a smile. Wetter's advice was plain to her also. "You see how much he wants it for himself," said I. "He knows I would sooner send a gutter-boy than Max. And you know it?" "Do I?" she murmured. I rose and stood before her. "It is yours to give, not mine," said I. "Do you give it to Wetter?"
Again I asked myself whether my sympathy were not more justly due to Struboff Struboff, who sat now smoking a big cigar and wobbling his head solemnly in answer to the emphatic taps of Wetter's forefinger on his waistcoat. But the prejudice of beauty fought hard on Coralie's side. I always find it difficult to be just to a person of markedly unpleasant appearance.
She gave that little emphatic double nod of hers. We talked no more of the frocks then, but during the few days which followed Elsa's perusal of Wetter's speech there was infinite talk of frocks and all the rest of the furnishings and appurtenances of Elsa's new rank.
The idea was obvious; just at present it was better for Elsa to think of her glories than to be too much with me; she was to be led to the place of sacrifice with a bandage over her eyes, a bandage that obscured the contrasted visions of Wetter's imagination and of my actual self. I saw their plan and appreciated it, but seeing did not forbid yielding.
Therefore I could not rest for the thought of what I had put my hand to, chafed at Wetter's words that sounded now like a taunt, and seemed again to see old Hammerfeldt dying and to flush red in shame before the utterance of his eyes. The Prince had served his masters, his country, and the cause that he held right. Wetter, if he served himself, served his principles also.
They were puzzled. It was all most excellent, most loyal, calculated to impress the people in the most favourable way. But, deuce take it, why did the man smile while he talked, and why did his voice change from a ring of a trumpet to the rasp of a file? The Chamber at large was rather upset by Wetter's oration. Ah, Wetter, but you had an audience fit though small! I read it I read it all.
Where lay the inspiration of this horseplay of Wetter's? "Quicker, quicker!" he cried to the driver. "I am impatient, my friends are impatient. Quick, quick! Only God is patient." "He's mad," grunted Struboff. "He's quite mad. The devil, I'm hot!" Wetter suddenly assumed an air of great dignity and blandness.
At that moment I meant to kill Wetter if I could, and I thought that I could. It did not even occur to me that I was in any serious danger myself. "Are you ready? Now!" said Varvilliers, in his smooth distinct tones. I looked straight into Wetter's eyes, and I did not doubt that I could send my bullet as straight as my glance. I felt that I saw before me a dead man.
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