'To destroy the Duchess.'
He laughed out, tolerantly.
'Intuition! Intuition! O thou self-wounding impulse! To destroy the
Duchess? Well! What is thy ring for? To destroy Monna Beatrice,
belike. And Monna Beatrice had her instrument too, they will say
afterwards--a blunt, coarse blade, but hers, hers only--as she thought.
Yet, it seems, one Ludovic used something of him, this Narcisso,
also--played him for his ends--marked him down, even, for landlord to a
fribble called Tassino. What, Carissima! He hath not told thee so
much?'
She shook her head dully.
'No?' mocked the Prince. 'And ye such sworn allies! O sweet, you shall
learn policy betimes! You will not yield the ring? Well, there is
Tassino, as you say. Play him against it.'
She knew she dared not. The vague implication of forces and
understandings behind all this banter quite cowed her. She had defied
the serpent, and been struck and overcome. Hate was no match for this
craft. But emotion remained. She dwelt a long minute on his smooth,
impenetrable face; then, all in an instant, yielded up her sex, and
stole towards him, arms and moist eyes entreating.
'I dared thee; I was wrong. Only----'
Her palms trembled on his shoulders; her bosom heaved against his hand.
'I have suffered, what only a woman can. O, Messer, let me keep the
ring!'
Her voice possessed him like an embrace; the soft pleading of it made
any concession to his kindness possible. He was very sensitive to all
emotions of loveliness, but with the rare gift of reasoning in
temptation. He shook his head.
'Ah!' she murmured, 'let me. Thou shalt find jealousy a hot ally.'
She pressed closer to him. He neither resisted nor invited.
'Most excellent sweetness,' he said gently. 'I melt upon this
confidence. Henceforth we'll bury misunderstanding, and kiss upon his
grave. But truth with sugar is still a drug. A jealous woman is bad in
policy. Trust her always to destroy her betrayer, though through
whatever betrayal of her friends. Besides, forgive me, Messer Bembo may
yet prove accommodating.'
At that she dropped her hands and stepped back.
'Is this to bury misunderstanding?' she cried low. 'O, I would _I_ were
Duchess of Milan.'
'More impossible things might happen,' he said thickly, for all his
self-control.
She stared at him fascinated a moment; then swiftly advanced again.
'Let me keep the ring,' she urged hoarsely. 'I could set something
against it--some knowledge--some information.'
He had mastered himself in the interval; and now stood pondering upon
her and fondling his chin.
'Yes?' he murmured. 'But it must be something to be worth.'