lucile lay back in the cushions of the brougham with a feeling of intense relief. he had saved her. an emotion of gratitude filled her mind, and on the impulse of the moment she took his hand and pressed it. it was the third time in their renewed acquaintance that their hands had met, and each time the significance had been different.
savrola smiled. "it was most imprudent of your excellency to venture into a crowd like that. luckily i thought of an expedient in time. i trust you were not hurt in the throng?"
"no," said lucile; "a man struck me with his elbow and i screamed. i should never have come."
"it was dangerous."
"i wanted to——" she paused.
"to hear me speak," he added, finishing her sentence for her.
"yes; to see you use your power."
"i am flattered by the interest you take in me."
"oh, it was on purely political grounds."
there was the suspicion of a smile on her face. he looked at her quickly. what did she mean? why should it be necessary to say so? her mind had contemplated another reason, then.
"i hope you were not bored," he said.
"it is terrible to have power like that," she replied earnestly; and then after a pause, "where are we going to?"
"i would have driven you to the palace," said savrola, "but our ingenuous young friend on the box has made it necessary that we should keep up this farce for a little longer. it will be necessary to get rid of him. for the present you had best remain my niece."
she looked up at him with an amused smile, and then said seriously: "it was brilliant of you to have thought of it, and noble of you to have carried it out. i shall never forget it; you have done me a great service."
"here we are," said savrola at length, as the brougham drew up at the entrance of his house. he opened the carriage-door; moret jumped off the box and rang the bell. after a pause the old housekeeper opened the door. savrola called to her. "ah, bettine, i am glad you are up. here is my niece, who has been to the meeting to hear me speak and has been jostled by the crowd. i shall not let her go home alone to-night. have you a bedroom ready?"
"there is the spare room on the first floor," answered the old woman; "but i fear that would never do."
"why not?" asked savrola quickly.
"because the sheets for the big bed are not aired, and since the chimney was swept there has been no fire there."
"oh, well, you must try and do what you can. good-night, moret. will you send the carriage back as soon as you have done with it? i have some notes to send to the rising tide office about the articles for to-morrow morning. don't forget,—as quickly as you can, for i am tired out."
"good-night," said moret. "you have made the finest speech of your life. nothing can stop us while we have you to lead the way."
he got into the carriage and drove off. savrola and lucile ascended the stairs to the sitting-room, while the housekeeper bustled off to make preparations for the airing of sheets and pillow-cases. lucile looked round the room with interest and curiosity. "i am in the heart of the enemy's camp now," she said.
"you will be in many hearts during your life," said savrola, "whether you remain a queen or not."
"you are still determined to drive us out?"
"you heard what i said to-night."
"i ought to hate you," said lucile; "and yet i don't feel that we are enemies."
"we are on opposite sides," he replied.
"only politics come between us."
"politics and persons," he added significantly, using a hackneyed phrase.
she looked at him with a startled glance. what did he mean? had he read deeper into her heart than she herself had dared to look? "where does that door lead to?" she asked irrelevantly.
"that? it leads to the roof,—to my observatory."
"oh show it me," she cried. "is it there you watch the stars?"
"i often look at them. i love them; they are full of suggestions and ideas."
he unlocked the door and led the way up the narrow winding stairs on to the platform. it was, as is usual in laurania, a delicious night. lucile walked to the parapet and looked over; all the lamps of the town twinkled beneath, and above were the stars.
suddenly, far out in the harbour, a broad white beam of light shot out; it was the search-light of a warship. for a moment it swept along the military mole and rested on the battery at the mouth of the channel. the fleet was leaving the port, and picking its way through the difficult passage.
savrola had been informed of the approaching departure of the admiral, and realised at once the meaning of what he saw. "that," he said, "may precipitate matters."
"you mean that when the ships are gone you will no longer fear to rise?"
"i do not fear; but it is better to await a good moment."
"and that moment?"
"is perhaps imminent. i should like you to leave the capital. it will be no place for women in a few days. your husband knows it; why has he not sent you away to the country?"
"because," she replied, "we shall suppress this revolt, and punish those who have caused it."
"have no illusions," said savrola. "i do not miscalculate. the army cannot be trusted; the fleet is gone; the people are determined. it will not be safe for you to stay here."
"i will not be driven out," she answered with energy; "nothing shall make me fly. i will perish with my husband."
"oh, we shall try to be much more prosaic than that," he said. "we shall offer a very handsome pension to the president, and he will retire with his beautiful wife to some gay and peaceful city, where he can enjoy life without depriving others of liberty."
"you think you can do all this?" she cried. "your power can rouse the multitude; but can you restrain them?" and she told him of the words she had heard in the crowd that night. "are you not playing with mighty forces?"
"yes, i am," he said; "and that is why i have asked you to go away to the country for a few days, until things become settled one way or the other. it is possible that either i or your husband will go down. i shall of course try to save him, if we are successful; but, as you say, there are other forces which may be beyond control; and if he gets the upper hand——"
"well?"
"i suppose i should be shot."
"fearful!" she said. "why will you persist?"
"oh, it is only now, when the play is growing high, that i begin to appreciate the game. besides, death is not very terrible."
"afterwards may be."
"i do not think so. life, to continue, must show a balance of happiness. of one thing i feel sure; we may say of a future state,—'if any, then better.'"
"you apply your knowledge of this world to all others."
"why not?" he said. "why should not the same laws hold good all over the universe, and, if possible, beyond it? other suns show by their spectra that they contain the same elements as ours."
"you put your faith in the stars," she said doubtingly, "and think, though you will not admit it, they can tell you everything."
"i never accused them of being interested in our concerns; but if they were, they might tell strange tales. supposing they could read our hearts for instance?"
she glanced up and met his eye. they looked at each other hard. she gasped; whatever the stars might know, they had read each other's secret.
there was a noise of someone running up-stairs. it was the housekeeper.
"the carriage has returned," said savrola in a quiet voice. "it can now take you back to the palace."
the old woman stepped out on to the roof, breathing hard from her climb. "i have aired the sheets," she said with exultation in her voice, "and the fire is burning brightly. there is some soup ready for the young lady, if she will come and take it, before it gets cold."
the interruption was so commonplace that both lucile and savrola laughed. it was a happy escape from an awkward moment. "you always manage, bettine," he said, "to make everyone comfortable; but after all the bedroom will not be needed. my niece is afraid lest her mother be alarmed at her absence, and i am going to send her back in the carriage so soon as it returns."
the poor old soul looked terribly disappointed; the warm sheets, the cosy fire, the hot soup were comforts she loved to prepare for others, enjoying them, as it were, by proxy. she turned away and descended the narrow staircase mournfully, leaving them again alone.
so they sat and talked, not as before, but with full knowledge of their sympathy, while the moon climbed higher in the sky and the soft breezes stirred the foliage of the palm-trees in the garden below. neither thought much of the future, nor did they blame the coachman's delay.
at length the silence of the night, and the train of their conversation were broken by the noise of wheels on the stony street.
"at last," said savrola without enthusiasm. lucile rose and looked over the parapet. a carriage approached almost at a gallop. it stopped suddenly at the door, and a man jumped out in a hurry. the door-bell rang loudly.
savrola took both her hands. "we must part," he said; "when shall we meet again,—lucile?"
she made no answer, nor did the moonlight betray the expression of her features. savrola led the way down the stairs. as he entered the sitting-room, the further door was opened hastily by a man who, seeing savrola, stopped short, and respectfully took off his hat. it was moret's servant.
with considerable presence of mind savrola shut the door behind him, leaving lucile in the darkness of the staircase. she waited in astonishment; the door was thin. "my master, sir," said a stranger's voice, "bade me bring you this with all speed and give it direct into your hand." there followed the tearing of paper, a pause, an exclamation, and then savrola, in a voice steady with the steadiness which betrays intense emotion under control, replied: "thank you very much; say i shall await them here. don't take the carriage; go on foot,—stay, i will let you out myself."
she heard the other door open and the sound of their footsteps going down-stairs; then she turned the handle and entered. something had happened, something sudden, unexpected, momentous. his voice,—strange how well she was beginning to know it!—had told her that. an envelope lay on the floor; on the table,—the table where the cigarette-box and the revolver lay side by side,—was a paper, half curled up as if anxious to preserve its secret.
subtle, various, and complex are the springs of human action. she felt the paper touched her nearly; she knew it concerned him. their interests were antagonistic; yet she did not know whether it was for his sake or her own that she was impelled to indulge a wild curiosity. she smoothed the paper out. it was brief and in a hurried hand, but to the point: code wire just received says, strelitz crossed frontier this morning with two thousand men and is marching hither via turga and lorenzo. the hour has come. i have sent to godoy and renos and will bring them round at once. yours through hell, moret.
lucile felt the blood run to her heart; already she imagined the sound of musketry. it was true the hour had come. the fatal paper fascinated her; she could not take her eyes from it. suddenly the door opened and savrola came in. the noise, her agitation, and above all the sense of detection wrung from her a low, short, startled scream. he grasped the situation immediately. "bluebeard," he said ironically.
"treason," she retorted taking refuge in furious anger. "so you will rise and murder us in the night,—conspirator!"
savrola smiled suavely; his composure was again perfect. "i have sent the messenger away on foot, and the carriage is at your disposal. we have talked long; it is now three o'clock; your excellency should not further delay your return to the palace. it would be most imprudent; besides, as you will realise, i expect visitors."
his calmness maddened her. "yes," she retorted; "the president will send you some,—police."
"he will not know about the invasion yet."
"i shall tell him," she replied.
savrola laughed softly. "oh no," he said, "that would not be fair."
"all's fair in love and war."
"and this——?"
"is both," she said, and then burst into tears.
after that they went down-stairs. savrola helped her into the carriage. "good-night," he said, though it was already morning, "and good-bye."
but lucile, not knowing what to say or think or do, continued to cry inconsolably and the carriage drove away. savrola closed the door and returned to his room. he did not feel his secret was in any danger.
