Once more Stanief was alone in his study, on the morning when Allard made his first rebellion. The windows were open and a warm, sweet breeze drifted the curtains into the room like snowy mists from the past winter, rustling on among the papers upon the writing-table, as Stanief laid down his work to listen to the visitor. It was so rare to see Allard excited and he was so vibrant with indignation as he stood before the other.

"Like that," he was declaring hotly, speaking English in his preoccupation, "and Dalmorov sneered, listening. 'My cousin is having his fine old country-place in the mountains renovated, Allard, so I am informed.' 'I know nothing, sire,' I said. 'He is very far-sighted,' he answered coolly. Monseigneur, I will not go back; I came here to tell you that. I am weary of watching it; I will stay with you. I can come here as I always hoped to do, giving to you, not asking. Let me finish, please. The Emperor has been generous to me, however little so to you, and I am modestly rich in my own right. Why, the pension accompanying the star and order he gave me after that attempt to kill him, that alone is more than my solitary life requires. My tastes are simple—that automobile about which you laugh at me is not as you think. It is my pride to have regained my independence, monseigneur; to be able to come to you, free, and offer to do your secretary's work, Vasili's, what you choose, but to do it as a service of love. Long ago, on the Nadeja, I lent myself to aid your purpose, to make it mine. And now you have carried it through; next week the Emperor will be crowned. Now I claim the right to return to you; the work is done."

"John—"

"You can not refuse me that," he cried. "You have taken my life and made it center around you, now you can not bid me tear that core out and go on."

As on their first night together, Stanief stretched his hand across the table for his companion's clasp.

"No," he answered lovingly, "we can not go on without each other. If you will stay with a sinking ship, come; I am selfish enough to let you. But the charge I gave you is not finished, nor my purpose yet fulfilled. You must go back until next week is over."

"The Emperor—" Allard began incredulously.

"The Emperor needs you more than ever before. There are too many people who cling to the peace of the last years, who dread change and would force me upon the throne at any cost. The Empire—not Adrian's court—the vast middle class, the merchants, the quiet, staid aristocracy, the very peasants, want all to continue as it is. If I were still to govern with the Emperor they would rest content, but they see it will not be so. They fear Adrian, they know and detest Dalmorov and the party he represents. And they are not careful in their methods of obtaining what they want. John, if you knew the veiled insinuations, the bold offers, the tempters who pursue me night and day; if you knew how they watch for the hours when Adrian has been most hard, how they skilfully touch my pride, my patriotism, my resentment and knowledge of injustice, if you lived my life for twenty-four hours, then you might speak of weariness. But the worst—"

Aghast, Allard stared at him, deep after deep of the inner court opening before his dizzy gaze.

"The worst?" he repeated mechanically.

The hand on the table clenched; all the inherited lawlessness and ambition of a royal line blazed up in Stanief's darkly brilliant eyes.

"I want it," he said deliberately. "I want to rule this country, to toss Dalmorov from my path, to stamp out the satisfied triumph from these time-serving faces about me. I want to play this splendid game and remain chief in the battles of diplomacy and statecraft. I want my wife to continue in the life to which she was born. And I know the power to accomplish all this lies ready at my hand; I have only to take. Oh, I am no Galahad or Cincinnatus, no patient despiser of earthly good; no longer even the idealist who spun his dreams on the Nadeja. I have tasted of a dangerous fountain, and I shall thirst for its purple-tinted water all the rest of my time. I have no bent, no inclination, for obscure inactivity."

"Yet?" Allard wondered.

Stanief leaned back and idly picked up the pen on his desk.

"Yet Adrian's coronation takes place next week, exactly. Are we sufficiently inconsistent, we others? And I will pass my life in a castle of the north, or wandering over Europe. I only spoke to show you that my days are not serene either, and why you must go back to keep your guard of honor with Adrian. I believe he is safe; the secret police watch him ceaselessly and report to me. But I want you near him."

"I will go back now," assented Allard, utterly subdued. "You are right, I knew nothing of this. I owe so much to him, as well as to you. I wish I were a wiser guardian; I—that automobile—"

"Your automobile! My dear John, what has it to do with the matter? Or do you mean that Adrian gave it to you? I never knew that."

"Yes, he gave it to me," Allard smiled and frowned together. "It is nothing, of course. But I will not leave him again unless you wish or he compels."

"Thank you. You are going direct to the palace?"

"Yes; he sent me with a letter to madame."

Stanief winced, sighing. One trial he had not told Allard, yet exile would have been a light thing to bear if the fearless child IrÍa had still walked with him.

"Wait and I will go with you," he offered. "I must have the Emperor's approval of these plans for next week. Have you delivered madame's letter?"

"Not yet, monseigneur. I am afraid I forgot it."

"Give it to me and I will leave it with her in passing. I have not seen her to-day."

It had come to that point; the cold and self-contained Stanief sought a pretext in these days to see the delicate face he loved. The Gentle Princess was hurting him as no one else could.

Up in her cream-and-azure boudoir, IrÍa was alone when Stanief entered. She was bending over a table heaped with water-lilies and purple Florentine irises from the conservatory, herself quite radiant with their reflected brightness as she lifted the heavy petals and breathed their fragrance. Her back to the door, she did not turn at once to see who came unannounced.

"Look, Marya," she called gladly and sweetly. "Come here; were ever things so lovely? So the irises grew at home, knee-deep in the clear pools, like enchanted princes. And the lilies,—over them the dragon-flies hovered all day and between their stems the goldfish slept and played."

She moved with the last word and saw Stanief; a tall, soldierly presence in the filagree room.

"Oh," she exclaimed faintly, "pardon, monseigneur!"

"For what?" he demanded. "It is I who should apologize for disturbing you here. I have a letter from the Emperor for you."

"Thank you, monseigneur," she murmured, and accepted the massive envelop to lay it listlessly on the table.

Stanief looked at her. Like one of her own slim flowers she stood, her shimmering white morning dress leaving her round throat and arms bare. The full soft hair was caught in a great coil low on her neck, she wore no jewel except the slender gold chain and cross gleaming through the lace at her bosom.

"Why are you afraid of me?" he asked abruptly. "Why do you shrink from me as if my touch were pain? What has come between us, IrÍa?"

"Nothing, monseigneur," her fingers inter-laced in feverish nervousness.

"Nothing? IrÍa, IrÍa, will you tell me now to take you with me into my exile?"

"Yes, monseigneur," came the low reply, but her head drooped.

"And you think I would accept the sacrifice? You think—" He checked himself with a violent effort.

"I am sorry," she responded confusedly. "I—I have not changed."

"Then it is I?"

"No, no; please let me go, monseigneur."

"It is I who will go," he answered, shaken out of self-mastery for once. "IrÍa, I do not know who awakened you, who showed you the truth, perhaps it was my kindly cousin. But it is clear that you have seen. IrÍa, was your trust also so weak that it went down before a breath? Because I loved you, must you shrink from me? Child, I loved you the first day that you gave me your shy friendship, I loved you all the months afterward, and was my care of you less careful for that? If you could have continued in your ignorance, would I have failed you?"

Before his passion and grief she retreated, mute, colorless, her dazed eyes upon him.

"You!" she gasped, "You—" then suddenly turned and hid her face among the heaped flowers.

"I did not hope that you could love me; I knew better than that," he said. "But I did hope that you would trust me. I thought I had earned that much, IrÍa. Let my fancies go; I will undo this as far as I may. You shall stay in the capital or go to your own home, whatever you choose. Only this week remains, and I lay down both my charges. Hush, and do not grieve; this is no fault of yours."

She was sobbing helplessly, her golden head among the white and purple blossoms. He drew a quick breath and stood for a moment, struggling to regather around him the poor tattered cloak of reserve. But it was a relief to him that she could not see his expression when he crossed to her side.

"Forgive me," he said sadly. "I am not very wise to-day, or very kind, I am afraid. I have loved you; yes, and I loved Adrian during our quiet years. Some flaw in me there must be, that neither of you could give me the simple gift of trust. We will speak of this no more; somehow I will find a way for you. 'A Stanief guards his own.'"

His voice shook on the sentiment he would have spoken lightly; stooping with the fierceness of pain suppressed, he touched his lips to her bright hair.

"You," panted IrÍa, as the door closed. "You, monseigneur!"

He had gone; only the silver-fringed curtain still swayed to tell of his passage, the frail, feminine atmosphere of the place still quivered from the presence of a dominant energy.

Down in the open carriage—a massively luxurious vehicle with the imperial arms enameled upon the door—Allard waited for Stanief a long time. The Emperor, just returning from a drive and apparently in haste to have his note reach IrÍa, had sent the nearest messenger in his own carriage.

"Do you know what one might imagine, seeing this carriage here and you waiting in it?" playfully demanded Vasili, as he lounged against the wheel.

"What?"

"That the Emperor was paying a visit to his cousin."

"I wish he were," Allard sighed unguardedly.

"I never meddle with politics; pas si bÊte. But I wish I were the Emperor's favorite just now, as you are. There will be changes soon, hein?"

"I suppose so. No one can tell."

"No, of course not. Do you know, I would like to be off in the Nadeja next week."

"The Regent is coming," Allard warned, gladly seizing an escape from the conversation.

Vasili swung around and clicked his heels together, saluting stiffly. Allard stepped down from the carriage.

"You need not come, Vasili," Stanief remarked, as he took his seat. "Monsieur Allard will accompany me. Come, John; we are late."

The horses sprang forward.

The drive through the streets, gay with preparations for the coronation and crowded with busy people, was attended by the manifestations grown familiar. More eager way was made for Stanief than for the Emperor himself; the glances which followed him were grateful and keenly anxious. Once a girl in a passing farmer's cart rose to toss into the carriage a sheaf of wildflowers.

"Little Father of the People!" she called in the soft, guttural vernacular.

It was a title given only to sovereigns; Stanief flushed and frowned together.

"That will not do," he commented drily, leaning back in the shadow of the victoria top.

"You have permitted them to think, and they give you their verdict," Allard answered.

The carriage turned from the great square to an avenue leading toward the palace. Densely packed with people, there was a brief pause before the way could be cleared. Noting a change in the atmosphere, a chill and more nervous haste, Allard lifted his eyes to his companion.

"This carriage, and with you in the shadow, monseigneur," he observed,—"they think it is the Emperor who passes."

The reply was not made by Stanief. Straight and surely aimed, a missile hurtled from an upper window in one of the buildings and fell on the cushions beside him.

"For peace and freedom!" shrieked a man, leaning from the window in half-insane excitement and waving his arms above his head. "No Adrian—for the Emperor Feodor!"

The crowd grew white with upturned faces; then, comprehending, broke into tumult and panic. Screaming, frantic, one and all turned to fly from the vicinity of the carriage. Allard snatched the bomb from the seat and rose to fling it from him, but even as he checked himself, Stanief seized his arm.

"Not into the people, John," he ordered sharply. "Better keep it here than that."

"Go, you!" Allard implored, turning the smoking object in his hands for examination. "Go, monseigneur!"

Above the uproar of the fighting, shrieking mob rose the agonized cry of the man at the window as he saw the Regent's face:

"You! You! The fuse, pull the fuse!"

"Fuse?" echoed Allard, catching at a small hanging thread of cotton. "Monseigneur, go, go! I can handle this—"

The cotton broke off short; a steady hissing warned them that it still burned inside.

"Give it here," Stanief commanded collectedly. "Get your penknife."

The two men bent above the oval, gray messenger of hate and death. Around them raged indescribable disorder; the very coachman and footmen had fled from the carriage.

"If you would go!" Allard panted, his voice tense.

"Bah," said Stanief, and forced the bomb from him.

An ominous snapping came from within. Stanief's strong white fingers fitted themselves to the crack and with a superb effort he twisted the thing in half.

"Ah!" gasped Allard, blinded, as a great cloud of smoke rushed forth.

Stanief drew out the fuse as it reached the end, and flung it into the street.

"Lighted too late," he explained. "Our terrorists are clumsy."

"They meant it for Adrian," he answered. "You were right."

They found each other's hands through the choking fumes; Allard's fingers scorched by the guncotton, Stanief's bruised and bleeding from the force used to open the machine.

As the smoke cleared they looked around, then back at each other. They were alone in a deserted street. Distant cries, increasing tumult, announced the spreading panic. Three blocks away flashed the green-and-gold of the palace guards as they charged to the scene, over pavements littered with fallen garments, the contents of overturned vehicles, and the vehicles themselves. The well-trained horses of the royal carriage had stood still, accustomed to public demonstrations of a different nature but similar violence.

"Really," Allard exclaimed, on the verge of laughter. "Really, monseigneur—"

"There has been some excitement," Stanief assented. "Will you go on to the palace and explain to the Emperor? I am going back to reassure madame."

Their attendants were creeping shamefacedly back to their posts, seeing all was over. The line of soldiers swept down upon the carriage, a very pale officer in command.

"I will do," said Allard, "anything you want."

If the uproar had been great at the attack, it trebled as the furious crowd surged back in search of the assailant. The guards were obliged to close around the Regent to shield him from the frenzied and hysterical joy of the people at his safety. The slow return to his home was one continuous ovation, almost the cheering masses prevented advance.

Long before Stanief reached his goal, Allard had arrived at the palace. No less excitement reigned there. Without need of explanation, Allard was hurried to the Emperor, questioned and congratulated on every side.

He met Adrian in the hall, and at sight of his messenger, blackened with smoke, hatless, still pale with the strain of those perilous moments, the Emperor sprang forward and caught his arm.

"Feodor?" he cried fiercely, his voice ringing through the lofty corridors. "Speak, speak; where is Feodor?"

"Sire, he has returned to madame the Grand Duchess."

"Safe? You are not deceiving me, he is safe?"

"He is unhurt; he destroyed the bomb before it exploded," Allard explained incoherently. "His hands are cut, no more."

Adrian dropped the other's arm and drew back; for hours Allard felt the bruise of that feverish grasp.

"To madame," he repeated.

"Sire, he ordered me to bring an account of the affair to your Imperial Majesty. He can be sent for," Allard suggested eagerly, catching a daring hope from the apparent emotion.

Adrian favored him with a saber-keen glance.

"Why should I wish to see him?" he demanded harshly. "If he is uninjured, very good; we will send our congratulations. You are exhausted, Monsieur Allard; go to your apartments and recover yourself. Alisof," he turned upon the group of listeners, "you will inform the chief of police that I shall replace him next week if he completes this exhibition of inefficiency by letting the assassin escape. And when he captures the man, he will report to me, not to the Regent."

Scarlet enough now under the streaks of grime, Allard moved aside to let him pass. All his self-control could not smother the blazing indignation in his gray eyes. But Adrian brushed past without regarding him, and went alone into the room beyond.