“It seems to me,” she said, quietly, “that all men must be ambitious, that the love of power must be a part of their very existence.”

“In England,” he remarked, “we are more circumscribed, our limits are more exact. Yet I suppose in our small way we all flutter our wings.”

“I have a curiosity to understand things,” she said, leaning back and fanning herself slowly. “Help me to understand yourself.”

He smiled.

“Do I puzzle you then?”

“A little—yes!”

“How?”

She looked at him reflectively out of her dark, full eyes. He looked into them once and turned away—he scarcely knew why.

“You do not seem to me,” she said, “like a man who would be content with small things. You outwitted Domiloff himself. Yet you call yourself a writer, and you are perhaps content?”

He shrugged his shoulders.

“Why not? There is excitement in it. One travels everywhere, meets strange types of people, penetrates into unknown countries, carries often one’s life in one’s hands. Oh, it’s not a bad life.”

“Perhaps,” she answered, “I do not quite understand. Our newspapers in Theos are different. You then are content?”

Again that curious searching gaze from the most beautiful eyes into which he had ever looked. Brand, in whose life women had played a small part, was unaccountably ill at ease. His easy nonchalance of manner had deserted him. Content! He looked for a moment into his future, and was astonished to find in it a new emptiness. She bent over towards him, and at her touch a thrill went through his veins, and set his heart beating to a new music.

“Just now,” she murmured, “you told the King—that you envied him. Was it true?”

“For the moment,” he answered, “I think that it was.”

“You then would like to be a king?”

He laughed, and answered her with a forced lightness.

“I? Not I! It would not suit me at all.”

“What did you mean, then?” she persisted.

“I think,” he said, “that I was a little lonely. You see I know none of these people. I am a stranger, and I felt a little out of my element. And then—then he came by with you, and—well, I wished I were in his place.”

She laughed very softly.

“So far as I am concerned,” she murmured, “you very soon had your wish.”

“It was very kind of you,” he said, “to take pity upon me.”

“I think that I wanted to talk to you again,” she said. “I am tired of all these people. Tell me, Mr. Brand, how long will you stay on in Theos?”

“I am not sure,” he answered, “perhaps a week, perhaps a month. It depends upon my paper. They may recall me at any time.”

She frowned, and stopped fanning herself.

“Why do you go back?” she said, abruptly. “Why do you not stay in Theos?”

“There is no place here for me,” he answered. “I am a stranger.”

“You say,” she continued, “that in your own country the limits of life are being drawn closer. Why do you not make for yourself a career in a country like this? Theos has need of such men as you.”

He shook his head.

“Theos has her own sons to direct her future. I am a stranger.”

“So is the King!”

“But he is a Tyrnaus. The people have chosen him for their King.”

“You are his friend,” she said, “and to you I may not say very much. But he is young, and he may make mistakes. He comes of a family who have done much evil here.”

Brand was startled.

“I thought that you and your brother were his chief supporters,” he said. “People are saying, too——”

Her fan stopped. Brand hesitated.

“Please to go on,” she said, imperiously.

“It is not my affair,” he continued, awkwardly. “I ought not to have alluded to it. But they are speaking of the possibilities of a marriage between you and him.”

The slow waving of white feathers recommenced. He felt that she was looking at him; almost in spite of himself their eyes met. He looked away with hot cheeks and burning eyes. Was this girl a trained coquette, or——

“I do not think,” she said, “that you need consider that. I do not think that I shall ever marry Ughtred of Tyrnaus.”

Despite himself he spoke the thoughts which had filled his mind.

“You,” he said, “are ambitious. Have you no desire to be a queen?”

“I love power,” she answered, “but I am a woman—and I do not wish to marry Ughtred of Tyrnaus.”

Brand told himself fiercely that he was a fool. Yet the music was suddenly sweeter, his vague antipathy to the King had vanished into thin air, the taste of life was sweeter between his teeth.

“You may think me mad,” he said, “but I am—not sorry—to hear it.”

There was a short silence. It was evident that if she thought him mad she was not displeased.

“Some day,” she said, presently, “I should like to talk to you of Theos. I believe that before long there will be great changes here. A new order of things may come—and you are one of those whom Theos may look to for help.”

“I?” he repeated. “But, indeed, Countess, you are overrating me. I am only a journalist. I know nothing of statecraft.”

“You are a strong man,” she answered, “and strong men are scarce. Promise me that you will not leave Theos without letting me know.”

“I am not likely to do that,” he said. “If ever I can help you or your country I would do it willingly. But you will remember that I am the friend of Ughtred of Tyrnaus.”

“You may have other friends—is it not so?”

The significance of her speech once more filled him with new emotions—half-delightful—half-uneasy. A sudden passionate impulse came to him to seize the little white hand all ablaze with jewels which hung over the arm of her chair so near to his. He mastered it with a stupendous effort. They sat there in a silence which was to him almost ecstatic. Then Nicholas of Reist stood suddenly before them, his black eyebrows contracted into a lowering frown.

“Marie,” he said, “the King is asking for you.”

She shrugged her shoulders, and rose without haste.

“I think,” she said, “that I have done my duty—and I am tired. I should like to go home, Nicholas.”

“You must make your adieux, in any case,” he answered, giving her his arm, and ignoring Brand. “No one is leaving yet, and there is to be a display of fireworks in the grounds.”

She looked over her shoulder to Brand with a parting smile.

“Good-night, Mr. Brand. I have enjoyed my rest very much.”

He bowed low, and remained for a moment alone in the Palm House. Through the open windows came the sound of ascending rockets hissing through the still night air—the grounds were ablaze with lights. He passed out, and mingled with the crowd of people.