CHAPTER XV.

TERMS OF ACCOMMODATION.

The two months which had been fraught with events of so much moment to Caerleon had not been devoid of incident for Nadia, although her circumstances afforded at first sight far less promise of excitement than did his. Since their hasty departure from Bellaviste, the O’Malachy and his wife had been sojourning at the frontier village of Witska, where they seemed inclined to remain as a thorn in the side of M. Drakovics, and this the more that he could not discover any motive, even that of devising plots, for their doing so. His agents visited the village perpetually, both in disguise and in their proper persons, and after dogging the footsteps of the Herr Oberst and his wife for a longer or shorter time, and even making incursions into their rooms at the inn when they were out, returned to their employer baffled. In fact, there seemed nothing for them to observe. The “Kur” arrangements at Witska were more primitive even than those at Janoszwar; but the O’Malachy drank the regulation number of tumblers of medicated water with unfaltering bravery, and took the prescribed stroll afterwards, accompanied by his wife, on the only level piece of road in the village, duly increasing the distance a little every day. The afternoon was invariably spent in the open air, in a sheltered spot at the foot of a blank wall belonging to the oldest part of the inn, Madame O’Malachy reading aloud occasional extracts from one of the French novels which were her constant companions, and her husband responding lazily with good-humoured criticisms. No life could have appeared more simple and innocent, none more entirely above-board. And yet, as Nadia could have told, although she based her opinion rather upon various small indications than upon actual evidence, the worthy couple were the whole time carrying on an extensive and complicated secret correspondence, and acting as intermediaries between the Thracian patriots who disliked the present _régime_ and their Scythian sympathisers. An unexpected meeting with her mother early one morning showed Nadia that she was pale and heavy-eyed, as though she had worked late the evening before; and the mystery was explained a few nights after, when, hearing sounds in the house after midnight, and fearing she knew not what, she equipped herself with great bravery for a search, and discovered both her father and mother still in their sitting-room, the one engaged in writing letters and the other in destroying a number of papers which appeared to contain reports of some kind.

After this revelation, Nadia kept her eyes open, and arrived before long at the conclusion that very few people came to the village, with the exception, of course, of the emissaries of M. Drakovics, who were not charged with messages of one kind or another for her parents. It seldom happened that a letter arrived by post, or was openly delivered; but pedlars and travelling showmen, artisans wandering in search of work, and roaming gipsies, each and all seemed to have a secret understanding with the O’Malachy and his wife. Sometimes a sign, scarcely perceptible save to the initiated, would convey the needed information--sometimes, Nadia felt sure, letters were brought; but she never saw one change hands, nor came upon any trace of it afterwards. It was evident that any documents which might prove compromising were immediately and punctiliously burnt, and this precaution it was that baffled the men employed by M. Drakovics, who had no means of distinguishing the remains of burnt paper among the ashes raked out from the great stove.

Another curious fact which Nadia discovered about this time was the secret of the means by which her parents held their necessary consultations without attracting the attention of the spies by prolonged conferences, or wasting a portion of their working hours at night. Coming upon them one day in the sunny spot where they usually sat, she found her mother, as she thought, reading aloud in French; but the first words that reached her ear scarcely sounded as though they were drawn from the novel on Madame O’Malachy’s knee.

“You see what Louis says: ‘Our friend X. has come over at last. His Majesty’s promises were too attractive. He engages to bring all his employés with him when the word is given.’ This despatch must be sent on immediately. It will show that there are others upon whom we can depend beside the city guard. ‘“_Adorable Erminie_!” _s’écria Léonide, en se précipitant_----’ What do you want, my daughter?”

Nadia delivered the message with which she was charged from the landlord, and retired, and it was some time before she lighted on the meaning of this curiously disjointed sentence. It occurred to her at last, in one of those flashes of insight which sometimes present to the mind in a moment the solution of a mystery long pondered over in vain, that the adventures of Léonide and Erminie were merely a blind, and that when Madame O’Malachy was supposed by those who were set to watch her to be reading to her husband in French, she was in reality discussing with him the progress of their schemes. No thought of profiting by this discovery to penetrate into her parents’ plans occurred to Nadia, and in any case the idea of acting as a spy would have been abhorrent to her; but even had she been anxious to probe more deeply the mystery of M. X. and his employés, her father and mother kept their secrets as carefully concealed from her as from the Thracian police-agents themselves. If the subject of Thracia was mentioned when she was in their company, it was merely as the text of a bantering discourse, conducted with more or less of good-humour on the O’Malachy’s part, but punctuated with bitter reproaches on that of his wife. Neither of them could forgive Nadia for her folly in refusing Caerleon, when the acceptance of his proposal would have raised the whole family to affluence and distinction, although Madame O’Malachy resented much more strongly than her husband the loss of the material benefits promised by the match. His easy-going nature accepted serenely enough the change in the position of affairs, and the necessity of plotting against the man he had hoped to welcome as a son-in-law; but both he and his wife were careful to guard against giving Nadia any inkling of the consequences which might ensue to Thracia and its king from her refusal. Although they never engaged in their mysterious work until she was out of the way, they would not run the risk of stimulating her curiosity by showing any eagerness to get rid of her, and allowed her to join them or not just as she pleased. But the certainty of finding herself either reproached or laughed at for the foolish way in which she had mismanaged what Madame O’Malachy called “_l’affaire Carlino_” made her only anxious to shun their society; and during the first few days of their stay at Witska she roamed about the garden alone, finding nothing to do but to recall the past, and feeling that she had nothing in the whole world to which to look forward. This being the case, it is not surprising that she caught herself one day wishing that she had not forbidden Caerleon so absolutely ever to renew his suit, but the discovery shocked and horrified her extremely.

“All my life I have been preparing to make a stand at some great crisis,” she said to herself; “and now that it has come, I am giving way already. I must find something to do. Of what use is it to train myself to be a martyr, if I cannot bear a week’s loneliness?”

She summoned all her resolution to enable her to meet this unexpected demand, and reviewed the state of affairs. With mingled shame and disgust she realised that she had been cherishing the vague thought that it was scarcely worth while to take up any settled work at present, and that this was owing to a half-hope that something might still happen to set things right and render her sacrifice unnecessary. It was a bitter disappointment to her to find that she could be so false to her dearest principles, and her first impulse was to place her determination beyond the possibility of change. As a step in the desired direction, she tore up the letter she had been about to despatch to her godmother, Princess Soudaroff, and wrote another. She knew that of late her letters had been somewhat short and superficial, telling all the trivial pieces of news she could find, but never touching on the all-important subject which had engrossed the minds of her parents, from the moment of their first sight of Caerleon, to that of her parting from him at Bellaviste. It is true that both Caerleon and Cyril had found a casual mention in the earlier letters written from Janoszwar; but as time went on both names, and especially that of the elder brother, had dropped out of sight in a way that would have caused some idea of the truth to enter the mind of most women, but the Princess was not inclined to be suspicious by nature. Nadia’s heart smote her now for her reticence, and she told her story to the Princess, suppressing only two material facts,--the name of her lover--this was due to her anxiety to behave fairly towards Caerleon,--and, as a natural corollary, her reason for refusing him. It must be confessed that she was not altogether sorry to be unable to lay the whole of the facts before her godmother; for although the Princess was very sympathetic in cases of conscience, she had a habit of looking at things differently from any one else, and Nadia had a lurking suspicion that in this case she might tell her that she had acted hastily, and ought to have asked advice. And this was merely what her own conscience hinted to her many times a-day. Before giving Caerleon her final answer she had been upheld by the expectation that the consciousness of having done right would bring her peace, if not happiness; but she now knew little indeed of either feeling. This made her begin to doubt whether she might not have been led astray by her own conviction of the goodness of the deed; and the doubt returned again and again to make her wretched.

Her duty to her godmother performed, and her resolution placed beyond recall, Nadia told herself that her lack of occupation had undoubtedly made it easier for her to fail in steadfastness, and that she must find something to do. She would no longer remain all day in the inn garden, but would go out into the village and try to make friends with the people, and this not only by way of a moral medicine for herself, but as a duty which she had neglected hitherto. She could not at first speak the language of the villagers nor they hers; but the interest she showed in the children won her a way into the hearts of the women, and she discovered, much to her surprise, that when a child was sick or hurt she could do more for it than any one else in Witska. In times of health the little ones found her somewhat solemn and unapproachable, for although she longed to make friends with them, she was not one of those who can throw themselves heart and soul into the small interests which seem so momentous to children; but when they were ill the experience she had gained in Princess Soudaroff’s cottage-hospital stood her in good stead. The nurses there had been wont to laugh at her as slow and clumsy; but at Witska, where there was no one to watch her with critical eyes, she succeeded in putting into practice the lessons she had learned. One or two cases of recovery from severe illness, which seemed miraculous to the villagers, but which were really due to patient nursing and modern methods of treatment, gained her a wide reputation, and appeals began to reach her from outlying hamlets and solitary huts, entreating her to pay a visit to some sick child. When these requests were translated to her by the cosmopolitan waiter, she welcomed them eagerly, for they promised fresh work, and work was what she wanted. A wild desire would seize her now and again to see Caerleon’s face once more, to hear his pleasant voice, to meet the glance, half puzzled, half amused, which he would cast at her when she had said anything that startled him. The vehemence of this longing for his presence alarmed her. She felt that she could almost volunteer to go to Bellaviste as a spy, if such a course would enable her to catch a glimpse of him; that she would be willing to meet the doom which Thracia kept for Scythian spies, if only she had seen him first. In this state of mind she welcomed the calls which came to her to take long mountain-walks and seek out distant families where a child lay ill, for the exertion of the day brought her back at night so tired that she was glad to go to bed and sleep the sleep of utter exhaustion. At first her long excursions drew upon her some opposition from her father.

“Sure it’s not the thing,” he said, “for a young lady to be roaming about alone like this. I won’t allow ut.”

“What would you have, O’Malachy?” asked his wife, scornfully. “Can we afford to engage a retinue to attend upon a girl who might be Queen of Thracia if she liked, and will not? Nothing will happen to her. She is a failure.”

Left to her own devices in this unflattering way, Nadia gladly accepted the implied permission to pursue her lonely walks, attended only by one of the great dogs which were kept to protect the flocks from the wolves, and which had attached himself to her. She saw no trace of the smugglers and outlaws of whom vague tales were current in the village; but one very real alarm beset her at times, of which she said nothing at home. It became evident to her by degrees that her proceedings were being watched. She would find herself tracked by pursuers of whom she could only obtain a glimpse by stratagem; and when she had learned to speak the language a little, she would hear at the cottages to which she was bound that a stranger had been there since her last visit, making inquiries as to the gracious lady and her doings. At first she was at a loss to imagine who could think her of sufficient importance to dog her steps in this way; but presently it dawned upon her that M. Drakovics, who still declined to be persuaded that she was not engaged in a conspiracy against Caerleon, had instructed his emissaries to keep an eye on her. This solution of the mystery satisfied herself; and as no one else appeared to notice anything unusual, she was not obliged to parry the remarks of others. The shepherds warned her to be careful, and not to stray from the beaten track, lest she should run into danger; but she knew that the wolves were not likely to venture from their fastnesses as yet, and, moreover, her mother’s words echoed bitterly in her ears. Nothing would happen to her, or, if it did, it would not signify. She was a failure. And yet, while her heart sank lower, she refused to allow herself to contemplate the possibility of reversing her decision. If she could bring Caerleon back to her with a word, she would not utter it, to ruin him and his kingdom. What he had called her mania for martyrdom was still strong upon her, and the more fervently she longed to reverse her decision the more sternly she crushed down the pain.

But there was a harder battle in store for her than the fight she fought daily with herself, and she was obliged to face it when she was weakest. The news had just reached her through a German newspaper of Caerleon’s initiation of the temperance legislation which she had pressed upon him, and it recalled to her mind his forecast of the difficulties of the work, and the appeal he had made to her to help him in it. Then she had received a letter from her godmother, overflowing with kindness, but containing a little gentle chiding.

“Why should you not be more frank with me, my child?” the Princess wrote. “Surely you know that if in any way I could help you, it would be my delight to do so, and yet you leave me to receive through a stranger an appeal on your behalf. I had a visitor this morning in the shape of Madame Bourenine, whom you know by name as the confidante of the Empress. She said that she had come to talk to me about the love-affair of Nadia Mikhailovna, but she mentioned no other names. Nor did I, for I knew none. After some conversation leading to nothing in particular, she inquired at last whether, if the obstacles to your marriage could be removed, I should be willing to give it my sanction. Knowing only that you had felt it your duty to refuse your lover for some reason with which I was not acquainted, what could I say but that if you thought it right to marry him I should be delighted to help you in any way I could? After receiving this answer, she left me, apparently satisfied. But, my child, have I deserved to be treated in such a way? Why should Madame Bourenine know more of your affairs than I? I do not ask for your confidence if you feel it right to withhold it, but I pray you to understand that no one on earth can desire your happiness and your best good more than I. I commit you to God’s keeping, dear child.”

After receiving this letter Nadia started on one of her mountain expeditions with her mind in a whirl. Who could the persons be that were interesting themselves in the state of affairs between her and Caerleon, and what was their motive for doing so? She puzzled herself with these questions in vain as she walked; but when she returned to the inn at a somewhat earlier hour than usual, she found that they were destined to a speedy solution. Entering the sitting-room, she was surprised to see a stranger talking to her parents,--a smooth and polished gentleman, with a highly waxed moustache. A conviction that she had seen him somewhere before came over her as she paused just inside the door; but she could not at the moment identify him with any one she knew.

“And this is mademoiselle!” said the stranger, an almost imperceptible smile curling the ends of his moustache as he saw her standing erect and astonished in the doorway, with her plain tweed dress damp and muddy, and her hair blown about by the wind.

“Yes, M. le Prince, it is my daughter,” said Madame O’Malachy, and Nadia noticed a repressed excitement in her manner. “Nadia, Vladimir Alexandrovitch has been so good as to pay us a visit here on his return journey from Czarigrad to Pavelsburg, entirely on your account.”

“Mademoiselle and I are not wholly unknown to each other,” said the visitor. “At one time I had the felicity of meeting her tolerably often at my sister-in-law’s house. If she does me the honour to recollect me, she may remember that even in those days I ventured to prophesy that she would be a beautiful woman; but I was not happy enough to discern that her _beaux yeux_ would exercise an influence on the history of Europe.”

Nadia’s brow grew stormy. She had now a very clear recollection of the elegant young man who had been wont to torment with compliments and caresses the shy, passionate little girl who followed his sister-in-law wherever she went, and also of her relief when circumstances had removed him from her neighbourhood. There was no very close intercourse nowadays between Princess Soudaroff and her brother-in-law, although the relations between them were perfectly friendly. The present Prince was not a member of the Cercle Evangélique.

“I fear I am an unfortunate messenger,” he went on, with a covert smile as he noticed the change in Nadia’s expression. “I have prejudiced mademoiselle against me already. But I would ask her to believe that I am here purely in the hope of being able to render some service to her and to the gentleman who is so happy as to possess her heart.”

“How dare you say that?” cried Nadia, angrily.

“I beg your pardon, mademoiselle. I remember that in the old days you used to prefer plain speaking to polite circumlocutions, and as only your own family are present, I have ventured to come to the point at once. It cannot, surely, be a secret to your respected parents that, with a generosity which does you infinite credit, you have declined the addresses of the person who is at present in possession of the throne of Thracia, for fear lest a marriage with you should endanger his future career?”

“I have never told you anything of the kind,” said Nadia, sharply, “and I am sure the King of Thracia has not. I cannot tell how you have found it out.”

“Ah, these wicked newspapers!” murmured the Prince, smiling gently at Nadia’s unintentional admission, “they publish everything. But if you assure me that they have been misinformed, mademoiselle, I can only resign the hope of serving you which has brought me here, and depart, entreating your forgiveness for having troubled you.”

“They were not misinformed. It is quite true that the King asked me to marry him, and that I refused,” said Nadia, bluntly.

“So I imagined, mademoiselle. I felt convinced that such a magnificent self-renunciation could not be merely a creation of fancy. But there is no reason,” he went on quickly, as she rejected his praise with a gesture of impatience, “why your delicacy should be alarmed by the thought that your admirable conduct has become known. It has won you friends all over Europe, and I may mention that in Scythia persons in a very exalted position have been much pleased with the spirit which you displayed under extremely trying circumstances, and have even been led to wonder whether it might not be possible to avert the difficulties which you feared might result from the marriage proposed to you. Pray sit down, mademoiselle,”--he rose and handed her his chair, and she accepted it mechanically, for her limbs were trembling so violently that she could scarcely stand,--“and let us consider the matter. The sympathies of my sister-in-law, Pauline Vassilievna, have been engaged, and she testifies the greatest eagerness to assist in bringing the affair to a happy conclusion. May I take it for granted that the only obstacle to a marriage between Lord Caerleon and yourself lay in these honourable scruples of yours?”

Nadia nodded silently, and he went on, watching her as a cat might watch a mouse.

“The first difficulty was caused, no doubt, by the difference of position? Well, I do not deny that between Nadia Mikhailovna and the King of Thracia there is a serious gap; but it is not so wide that it cannot be bridged. We can scarcely aspire to restore the ancient regal glories of your father’s house,” he smiled indulgently, “but his Majesty the Emperor has for some time entertained the desire of conferring on my good friend Colonel O’Malachy a patent of nobility, in recognition of his long and meritorious services; and between Lord Caerleon and the Countess Nadia, daughter of Count O’Malachy de Lisnacoola, there is no very great disparity of rank.”

“But Carlino is King of Thracia,” Nadia managed to say.

“Pardon me. I am aware that he calls himself king, but he has simply usurped the throne. He cannot be king without the consent of the Powers, and of Roum, the suzerain State. His so-called election is merely the work of an ignorant peasantry, led on by irresponsible agitators. The present condition of Thracia is a standing menace to European peace, and it cannot be suffered to continue. If this errand with which I am charged to you fails to bring about a settlement, Lord Caerleon must fall. He is nothing but an adventurer, a land-pirate.”

“But,” urged Nadia, more for the sake of gaining time than for any other reason, “if this patent of nobility is intended as a reward for my father’s services, why should it not be granted to him in any case?”

“Sure that’s the most sensuble thing I’ve ever heard you say, Nadia,” exclaimed the O’Malachy, with hearty approval, while his wife frowned angrily, and Prince Soudaroff looked a little nonplussed.

“You forget, mademoiselle, that the conferring of the patent would involve in this instance a grant of estates sufficient for the maintenance of the title, such as it would be invidious to bestow upon an officer of Colonel O’Malachy’s standing in an isolated case, unless for very special reasons of State. But not only are those whom I represent willing to aid you in this way,--I am further authorised to promise that the Scythian ambassador at Czarigrad shall be instructed, if the marriage takes place, to support the Thracian claim for the confirmation by the Grand Signior of Lord Caerleon’s election as king. The bride will thus have the satisfaction of bringing not only happiness to her husband, but peace and security to Thracia.”

“But only the confirmation of King Carlino’s election? Not the recognition of the right of the Thracians to elect their own king?”

“Certainly not, mademoiselle. Roum would be unable to accord such a recognition without the consent of the Powers, which would not be given under any circumstances.”

“I can quite believe it. And now, M. le Prince, I know that in the political world nothing goes for nothing. What is the price to be paid for this kindness on the part of the Emperor?”

“Nadia!” cried her mother. “I am grieved--astonished----”

“Madame,” said the Prince, with a deprecating wave of his hand, “when I undertook this errand I expected to be misunderstood. There are no conditions attached to his Majesty’s favours, mademoiselle. He gives without any desire of receiving in return. I do not say that he does not look for gratitude. His heart is so tender that even years of ruling and much bitter experience have not hardened it. He may well anticipate that some little attention would be paid to his wishes, some slight concessions made on the part of those who will owe so much to him; but that is all.”

“Ah!” said Nadia, sharply. “And what are these concessions?”

“They are so slight, mademoiselle, that his Majesty is quite content to leave them in the background until matters are as happily arranged as you can desire--in other words, until your marriage with Lord Caerleon has taken place. On so joyful an occasion the sole anxiety of a man of generous impulses, such as I understand this unfortunately misguided nobleman to be, would be to take counsel with his bride as to the means by which he might testify some portion of his gratitude to the potentate to whom he owed his happiness.”

“I see,” said Nadia, crimson but persistent. “And it would be my part to suggest that these concessions should be made, as signs of our joint gratitude to the Emperor. But I must know something more about them. It would be impossible for me to recommend them to the King unless I had been told what they were.”

“They are so slight, mademoiselle, as scarcely to be called concessions,--they would merely take the form of a graceful acknowledgment of the Emperor’s kindness. Until this unhappy revolution occurred, the connection was so close between Scythia and Thracia that there will appear nothing strange in returning to the custom by which in all matters of foreign policy the advice tendered by Scythia was followed by the Thracian Government. Again, Scythia has borne such a prominent part in organising the Thracian kingdom and in training the army that to appoint a Scythian officer as Minister of War would cause no surprise, and seem only natural.”

“Ah!” said Nadia again, “and that is not all?”

“It is evident, mademoiselle, that while the present Ministry is in power in Thracia, the Emperor cannot feel towards that country the cordiality he would wish to entertain. It is to the interest of the Cabinet at present in office to oppose any tendency towards a reconciliation with Scythia, simply because their own position depends upon their maintaining a hostile attitude. But the matter will right itself. When the King shows his gratitude and friendliness towards Scythia in the two ways I have indicated, the Drakovics Ministry cannot remain in office. The Assembly will be dissolved, M. Drakovics will disappear as suddenly as he rose to power, and the King, assisted, if necessary, by Scythia, will obtain by means of a general election a more serviceable Government.”

“By means of compulsion and forged voting-papers, I suppose,” said Nadia. She had no reason to feel any special love for M. Drakovics; but he was an honest man and a patriot, and really anxious to do what seemed to him to be best both for Caerleon and Thracia. She rose from her chair, and spoke wearily: “I am sorry that I shall not have the opportunity of advising the King to accept your conditions, M. le Prince.”

“There are no conditions, mademoiselle. What is desired is merely an honourable understanding that you will employ your influence over Lord Caerleon to induce him to comply with the Emperor’s wishes in this direction.”

“And into that understanding I cannot enter. I will not help to thrust the Thracians back into the bondage from which the revolution freed them. I will never advise the King to take the steps you propose, and I hope and believe that he would decline to listen to me if I did.”

“Nadia, you are mad!” cried Madame O’Malachy, shrilly. “If you have no regard for your lover, will not the thought of your family move you? The old age of your parents and your brother’s future would be secured by your accepting the gracious kindness you scorn.”

“It is still possible that on mature consideration mademoiselle may change her mind,” said Prince Soudaroff, looking calmly through a handful of papers which he took from his pocket. “His Majesty’s offer will remain open for a week. But I cannot honestly advise any delay. We have merely to seek a _rapprochement_ with Pannonia, and secure her opposition, instead of her neutrality, to the negotiations at Czarigrad, and the fate of Lord Caerleon and his ‘kingdom’ is sealed. Thracia is honeycombed with disaffection, and such a failure in foreign policy will precipitate matters. One more thought, mademoiselle. I told you just now that Lord Caerleon was a land-pirate. Have you recollected what is the fate of a captured pirate?”

“I had rather know that he was dead than saved by betraying the nation that trusted him,” said Nadia, stoutly. No harassing doubts assailed her now. Such an offer as this could not but be refused.

“And again,” the Prince went on, not heeding her words. “Lord Caerleon is only a man; and we men are not angels in constancy. Your refusal has made him miserable, it is true; but he will not remain long in this state of mind. You have wounded his self-esteem; you have shown him that there are certain things which you love better than you love him. It does not signify that these things are the highest and most creditable sentiments--he must be a very exceptional man who could endure to see them preferred to himself. And Lord Caerleon is not an exceptional man; he is simply a young Englishman, half child and half barbarian, whose idea is that when he wants anything he must have it. You have denied him that on which he had set his heart, and very soon his one anxiety will be to punish you. I happen to know that M. Drakovics, his Minister, is doing his utmost to obtain for him the hand of some princess of a royal house. There is still time to win him back, for he loves you at present, in spite of the way in which you have treated him. But if you delay only a very few days you may be too late. Owing to your own cruelty, you may see your lover urged into a marriage with another woman, whom he does not love, but whom he is willing to accept in order to punish you. Or perhaps,” with a smile, “you may see him marrying joyfully--who shall say?--some royal lady who has succeeded in captivating his inconstant heart, which was at your disposal if you would have received it, but cannot support your coldness.”

“I can’t help it!” cried Nadia, trembling from head to foot. “If I could withstand him, do you think I will listen to you? He is quite right to marry some one else; I told him to do it. Ah! if you wanted me to give way, you should have brought him here; but you would never dare to utter to his face the horrible lies you tell of him behind his back. I can only thank you for not putting me to the test.”

“Would ut be quite impossuble?” asked the O’Malachy, as she closed the door sharply behind her.

“Quite,” returned his wife. “Drakovics and Milord Cyril watch over him night and day. No one is allowed to hold communication with him except through them.”

“Yes,” rejoined Prince Soudaroff, meditatively. “I fear King Carlino has had his last chance.”

“I observe,” said Madame O’Malachy, “that in your conversation with my daughter you made no allusion to the religious difficulty, M. le Prince.”

“If so, madame, it is for the excellent reason that no religious difficulty exists. On the contrary, the fact that mademoiselle is a member of the Orthodox Church has contributed largely to induce the Emperor to suggest the terms I was authorised to offer.”

“But sure the girl’s a schismatic--an Evangelical, or whatever the fools call themselves?” cried the O’Malachy, while his wife nodded quickly.

“Pardon me, my dear colonel, but Scythian law makes no provision for schismatics. Mademoiselle was baptised in the Orthodox Church, and it is impossible for her to quit it. Her marriage, to be valid, must be celebrated according to the orthodox rite, and the Emperor and the clergy may be trusted not to lose the hold they would thus gain upon Thracia.”

“That such a scheme should be wrecked by a girl’s obstinacy!” cried Madame O’Malachy. “It is maddening!”