Sabina stood gaping in mute terror and fury, knowing beyond any doubt that he was speaking to her. His eyes bored straight into hers.

“To a young heiress of Pomerania very special to me,” he intoned in a voice that, though serious, Sabina knew for the mockery it was, “who has been the only love of my heart… all the years from my earliest youth, up to the present moment.”

He hesitated but a moment longer, then handed her the rose.

“This, my dear Sabina,” he said, “should seal the union of our estates.”

He paused but a second for effect, then added, “And as you know… the darker the red, the deeper the love.”

Muted ahs and quiet exclamations of wonder spread through the women in attendance, who were well aware of the significance of the symbol and the drama that was actually playing itself out before them.

The countess didn’t know what to think. Marion and Heinrich, in a distant part of the hall, did not become aware that their daughter was in the middle of a horrifying situation until it was too late to help without aggravating it further. Emil Korsch watched every move of Gustav’s, gloating inwardly, with meaningful thoughts and possibilities flying through his brain.

Sabina stood like a statue of stone, her face alternating between the red of mortification and the white of wrath at his presumption, cruelty, and gall.

Still she stood, not moving a muscle, refusing to take the offered rose in front of her.

It took Gustav, in his condition, a second or two to realize that, though he’d intended to make a fool of Sabina, in her refusal it was very quickly he himself that was looking the idiot. The anger of alcohol, always as close to the surface as its merriment, began instantly to rise, and the natural bravado of his egocentric nature came forth.

“Take it, Sabina,” he said, with some insistence in his tone.

The statue continued to stand before him.

“Take it!” he demanded.

The air was pregnant with suspense.

He moved yet a step closer and tried to force it into her hand. Then, as she still did not so much as twitch a finger to lay hold of the thornless stem, Gustav took hold of her hand and, holding the rose along with it, drew it toward himself and made an attempt to kiss it. She tried to pull her hand away from his lips, but his grasp grew tighter.

“Come, Sabina,” he said, trying to make light of her refusal, “let us dance before my father’s guests.”

He turned and called out over his shoulder to the ensemble, “Another waltz!” then made as if to lead Sabina toward him to the open floor.

There was a deathly silence. Even the musicians had been spellbound by the tense drama unfolding before them.