“Well!”

Reist unfastened his sword. The State uniform of the Thetian Guards was cumbersome, and the day was hot.

“Let Basil bring me wine,” he ordered. “The cathedral was a furnace. Everywhere the air seems hot with the shouting of the people.”

“Up here,” Marie said, “the clamour of voices has seemed incessant. I have never heard anything like it.”

He walked up and down moodily. He was not sure whether the day had gone according to his liking. All the time her eyes questioned him.

“One thing,” he declared, “is certain. Never again will a republic exist in Theos. Two generations of rouÉs and madmen have not sickened this people of the House of Tyrnaus. Their loyalty is amazing.”

“This man,” she said, “is neither rouÉ nor madman.”

“It is true,” he admitted.

He drank his wine, and as he set the glass down he felt her watching him. He understood the unspoken question in her deep, blue eyes.

“Of his betrothal,” Reist said, slowly, “there was no word.”

She drew herself up haughtily, a slim, stately figure in her magnificent white dress, caught up with jewels, and the curious bejewelled head-dress which in Theos was the symbol of her rank. Yet Nicholas, who watched her closely, caught the gleam of something in her eyes which surprised him. It was more like relief than anger.

“Was our ancient usage explained to him?” she asked.

“Yes! I told him that an unmarried king was contrary to the time-sanctioned custom of our country. I told him that the announcement of his betrothal should be made at the moment of his coronation. The people expected it, and it would add immensely to his popularity.”

“You told him that?”

“Yes!”

“And he answered?”

“He answered me with a jest. As yet he was not prepared to marry or to think of marriage. He preferred to retain his liberty.”

She bit her lip, and the colour mantled in her cheeks.

“And you?”

He hesitated.

“It was after the words of the ceremony. He was my king. Between a Reist and a Tyrnaus the difference is purely accidental. The Reists are, indeed, the older and the nobler family. But between a Reist and his king there is a gulf. I cannot point my sword against him.”

She walked restlessly up and down the room. Her thoughts were in confusion. For some vague, unacknowledged cause, her first impulse had been one of relief. She had expected a formal offer for her hand, and she would scarcely admit even to herself that that expectation had been a dread. Yet to be ignored touched her pride keenly. She stopped by her brother’s chair.

“What, then?” she asked. “Am I, the Countess Marie of Reist, to be flouted and passed over by a beggarly soldier, whose life has been spent as an adventurer, because the blood of the House of Tyrnaus is in his veins and chance has brought him to the throne? Nicholas, am I to look to you in vain to avenge this insult?”

The man’s eyes flashed fire.

“Be patient, Marie,” he answered. “Ughtred of Tyrnaus has lived in strange countries all his life, and imbibed the hateful modernisms of the West. Let us wait for a little. Perhaps he does not understand. Perhaps the time would seem to him too short even for a royal wooing. We will watch and wait. Meanwhile, listen. This is certain. If Ughtred of Tyrnaus lives out his reign, you and no other shall be his queen. That at least I can answer for.”

She shrugged her shoulders.

“It may be,” she said, “that when he is ready he may find his opportunity gone. The throne of Theos will be no bed of roses. In the meantime, I at least shall not go to the palace.”

Reist looked doubtful.

“It was arranged,” he reminded her, “that you should receive the wives of the Ministers. It is your right of birth.”

“I renounce it then for the present,” she answered. “Let him see how the fat old Kolashin woman will look on his left hand.”

Her brother watched her thoughtfully. Then he shrugged his shoulders.

“Women are all alike,” he said to himself, bitterly, on his way to the palace. “She is in love with Ughtred of Tyrnaus. She has drunk with him from the King’s cup. It is enough!”

“Baron Domiloff!”

She rose to her feet perplexed—a little annoyed. It was a visit which she did not understand. He came swiftly across the lawn to her, unattended and unannounced.

“I do not understand,” she said, as he bowed low before her. “My servants have no authority to send you here. I am not receiving this afternoon—and you—you surely should be at the palace.”

“I offer my most profound apologies, Countess,” he said respectfully. “Your servants are not at fault. It was my persistence which prevailed.”

“You have some message for me?” she asked, doubtfully.

“None,” he answered. “I have come here on my own initiative. You will permit me the honour of a few minutes’ interview. As to my absence from the palace, is that more likely to be remarked upon than yours, Countess?”

She waived the question.

“It is at least more surprising,” she answered. “Do you wish your Austrian friends to have it all their own way with the King?”

“The Countess of Reist’s sympathies are, I fear,” he murmured, “with my rival.”

“My sympathies,” she answered, “are with neither of you. You each seek aggrandizement at our expense. I am a Thetian, and I believe that the less we have to do with foreigners the better. But I do not see, Baron Domiloff, what profit there can be in a discussion of this sort between you and me. I am still waiting for an explanation of your presence here. Which of my servants has proved faithless?”

“None,” he answered. “I made my way here unknown to anybody. I came, Countess, to ask you a question.”

“Well!”

He did not immediately reply. There was a good deal at stake, and her manner was not encouraging. In the end it came, however.

“Is it true what they are whispering in the city—that you have drunk with Ughtred of Tyrnaus from the King’s cup?”

The Countess rose from her seat with flashing eyes. The Russian stood his ground, however, respectful, insistent, having well calculated the effect of his words.

“What an infamy—that you should dare to come here and ask me such a question. If you will not leave me at once, sir, I myself must return to the house. Your presence here is an insult.”

Domiloff stood in the centre of the path, and his manner was the manner of a man who has something to say, and will surely say it.

“Countess,” he exclaimed, “I can claim no more with you, it is true, than the merest acquaintance, but I beg of you to consider whether I have the reputation of doing foolish things or asking foolish questions. You may not believe it, but I have the good of your country at heart. We in Russia desire an independent Theos. When I see her, therefore, drifting gradually towards certain destruction, I brave all things to save her.”

She regarded him steadfastly, still angry, but a trifle curious.

“Explain yourself, sir—if any explanation is possible.”

“Countess,” he answered, “for the sake of your country, answer my question.”

She hesitated. Her cheeks were flushed. She drew herself up proudly.

“You are well served, Baron,” she said. “Your spies, it seems, can penetrate even within the walls of the Reist house. Yet the matter is no secret. I have drunk with Ughtred of Tyrnaus from the King’s cup.”

He inclined his head slowly.

“Yes,” he said, “I was sure of it. Yet you have done well to tell me. Now I will tell you this. Ughtred of Tyrnaus before he had been King an hour sent to London to summon here an American woman with whom he had been—on the best terms in London.”

She was thoughtful for a moment.

“You are sure of this?”

“I am sure of it,” he answered.

“Is she of noble birth?”

Domiloff, who had been in New York, smiled faintly.

“She is an American,” he answered. “Her father was a shopkeeper, her grandfather a labourer. He intends to marry her!”

“That is impossible,” she answered, curtly. “The people of Theos would not permit it.”

“When did a Tyrnaus,” he asked, “ever consider the welfare or opinion of his subjects when the gratification of a caprice was concerned.”

She shrugged her shoulders.

“And why,” she asked, “do you bring this news to me?”

“To give you an opportunity of saving your country,” he answered, promptly. “See, I will risk everything—I tell you the whole truth. Ughtred of Tyrnaus is not acceptable to my master as King of Theos. We know the race too well. They are not to be trusted—the integrity of the State is not safe in their hands. There is only one man who is the Heaven-designed ruler of Theos!”

“And he?”

“It is your brother!”

Now, indeed, she was interested. A rush of colour warmed her cheeks. The frigidity of her manner vanished as though by magic.

“I myself have told him so,” she exclaimed. “When the people rose against the republic they called for him. It was the golden opportunity which he failed to seize.”

“It will come again,” he assured her, earnestly. “I give you my word that it will come again. That shall be my care. Yours is to see that next time he is prepared.”

“Why do you not yourself speak to him?” she asked.

He smiled.

“You know your brother. The knowledge should answer that question. He has sworn loyalty to Ughtred of Tyrnaus, and for good or for evil he will keep his vow. We must wait till the thing is inevitable.”

“And I,” she murmured, “I, too, am a Reist, and he is my king.”

“You are the first lady in Theos,” he answered, “and you will not be content to bend your knee day by day before a plebeian. I will prove to you that I am sincere. If the King seeks your hand in marriage, I will not raise a little finger against him. But we will not support another Tyrnaus in another reign of folly. We will not recognize a king who places by his side upon the throne the daughter of tradespeople.”

“It would be infamous,” she murmured.

“Dear lady,” he said softly, “try to forget that I am a Russian, or that Russia was ever your fancied enemy. An independent Theos is my policy, it is your religion. Let us work hand in hand.”

The old distrust was hard to smother. She gave him the tips of her fingers.

“You can speak with me again,” she said. “I make no promises. I will watch.”