Her face was alive again, alive too with a softness of womanhood he had
never seen before.
"Forgive me, Antony," she said. "I loved you all the time."
What else need Silencieux say!
"But it was so strange," said Antony after a while, "so strange. I
could have borne the pain, if only I could have understood."
"Shall I tell you the reason, Antony?"
"Yes."
"It was because I saw in your eyes a thought of Beatrice. For a moment
your thoughts had forsaken me and gone to pity Beatrice. I saw it in
your eyes."
"Poor Beatrice!" said Antony. "It is little indeed I give her. Could you
not spare her so little, Silencieux?"
"I can spare her nothing. You must be all mine, Antony--your every
thought and hope and dream. So long as there is another woman in the
world for you except me, I cannot be yours in the depths of my being,
nor you mine. There must always be something withheld. It will never be
perfect, until--"
"Until when?"
"Until, Antony,"--and Silencieux lowered her voice to an awful
whisper,--"until you have made for me the human sacrifice."
"The human sacrifice!"
"Yes, Antony,--all my lovers have done that for me.
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