Late that night a man stood motionless amongst the shrubs in the garden of the Reist house. His eyes were fixed always upon a certain window where a light was burning. He muttered often to himself, and the things which he said were not pleasant to hear. He was tired and cramped with his long waiting—yet so long as that light burned he dared not approach the house.

There came to him at last a welcome sound, a light footstep and the trailing of a skirt upon the gravel path. He leaned forward.

“Countess, I am here.”

Marie stooped to pluck a flower, and slipped behind the shrub. They were now invisible from the house.

“You received my note?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“It was more than two hours ago. I am cold and tired with waiting. Was it necessary to keep me here so long?”

“Quite,” she answered. “I came as soon as it was safe.”

“Who has been with your brother to-night?” he asked.

“How do you know that we have not been alone?”

He pointed to the light still burning in the window.

“That light,” he said. “See, it is just extinguished. Your visitor has gone.”

She laughed bitterly.

“You are well served—by my servants,” she said.

“It is for all our interests! The visitor?”

“It was General Kolashin.”

“The General himself?”

“Yes. He came to reason with my brother about giving up his command.”

Domiloff frowned.

“Your brother did not waver?”

“He wavered a good deal. But for me I think that he would have returned to camp. I am sorry now that I interfered.”

“You are not in a pleasant humour to-night, I fear, Countess.”

“I am never in a pleasant humour when I have to do with—such as you. Treason and deceit are ugly things, to us, at least, Baron Domiloff.”

“I do not agree with your terms, Countess,” he answered, “but this is scarcely the place or the time for argument. Your brother?”

“He awaits you.”

“He has spoken of our interview?”

“Yes!”

“And you have told him?”

“To beware of Baron Domiloff,” she answered, coolly.

He bent over to read her face, uncertain in the dim twilight.

“You are jesting,” he murmured.

“It is very possible,” she admitted.

She turned away from him, and looked towards the hills. The muttering of artillery still continued. Domiloff was uneasy.

“Countess,” he said, “I must go in to your brother, for this evening we were overheard in the CafÉ Metropolitan, and I am not safe in the city any longer. But, I pray you to tell me this. What is your brother’s disposition concerning these matters of which we have talked?”

She shook her head.

“I cannot tell you. I have done what I can, but he himself is torn with doubts and fears. The sound of the guns, and the thought of the fighting goads him to madness. I have done what I promised. Through me he has broken with the King, and I have sent him to you. The rest you should have accomplished.”

“And so I should,” Domiloff declared, fiercely, “but for that cursed interruption. It is ill to do with men who do not know their own minds.”

“Or with women in the like straits, my friend,” she murmured.

He shot a quick glance at her.

“Of you,” he declared, quietly, “I have no fear. You would not see this American girl Queen of Theos. I do not think that you would stand in waiting before her throne.”

Marie’s face was for a moment white with passion. She seemed as though she would strike him. Domiloff watched her narrowly. He liked to be sure of every one with whom he had to deal, and there were times when she eluded him.

“No,” she answered at last. “It is not likely that I should do that. Baron Domiloff, I will show you the way to my brother’s room.”

“One moment.”

He touched her arm. She drew it away with an angry exclamation. Domiloff was not without vanity, and his personal repugnance to her, which she was at no pains to hide, galled him. For a moment he dared not trust himself to speak.

“Will you be so good as to remember,” she said, with cutting force, “that my toleration of you is on account of Theos, and Theos only. Personally, I hate all conspirators and plotters. The idea of this sort of thing and everybody connected with it is loathsome to me.”

He bowed low. It was as well that she could not see his face.

“Countess,” he said, “you will excuse my familiarity, but there was a matter—an urgent matter—which I had yet to mention to you. There is a man who must die unless he leaves Theos in four-and-twenty hours. I have heard him called your friend—else he were a dead man at this moment.”

She looked at him doubtfully.

“You do not mean the King?”

“No! I mean Walter Brand, the English journalist.”

She started. Domiloff watched her keenly.

“What has he done?” she asked.

“What has he not done. You remember his first appearance here?”

She laughed softly.

“I remember it very well,” she answered. “He was bold enough to befool the wily Baron Domiloff—to play with him and beat him at his own game. Yes, his first coming I remember very well indeed.”

The darkness hid Domiloff’s face. His voice was under perfect control.

“I bear him no special grudge for that,” Domiloff said, “but it was only the beginning. He has done his very best to oppose us throughout. He is the King’s most intimate friend, he is our most dangerous enemy. His letters from here are influencing the whole European Press. In England they have created a sensation, and in Germany also. They have been translated into every language, and copied everywhere. The time has come when they must cease.”

She felt the significance of his words. She was not altogether unmoved under his close scrutiny.

“He is an Englishman,” she said, “and it is dangerous to interfere with Englishmen.”

“Nevertheless it must be done,” he declared. “To-night it has become a matter of urgency.”

“How so?”

“Because, not content with the mischief which he has already done, he must needs play the spy upon one or both of us. To-night he was at the CafÉ Metropolitan and overheard some part of my conversation with your brother.”

A sudden colour flushed her cheeks. Her eyes were bright.

“He is a brave man,” she cried.

Domiloff shrugged his shoulders.

“The difference between a brave man and a fool,” he said, “is so slight. But listen, Countess! You wish his life spared?”

“If harm comes to him through you or any of your creatures,” she cried, with a little burst of passion, “I will go to the King and have you hung in the market-place.”

There was a moment’s silence. Domiloff was staggered by her bold words.

“Countess,” he said, “his safety lies with you. I give you this opportunity to warn him.”

“To warn him? But I do not know where he is,” Marie protested. “Besides, he would not heed me.”

“To-morrow,” Domiloff answered, “I may be able to acquaint you with his whereabouts. I must at least have him watched and his dispatches intercepted. He is absolutely our most dangerous opponent.”

“But even if he were to receive a message from me, he would not come if he were at the front,” Marie said.

“He comes every day to Theos to send off his cables,” Domiloff answered. “I shall send you word where he is, and you must send for him. It is absolutely necessary that he come over to our side.”

“He is not the kind of man to desert a losing cause,” Marie said. “He would not listen to me.”

Domiloff gave vent to an impatient gesture.

“He must listen to you, Countess, or die,” he said.

She looked him in the face.

“You will remember my threat, Baron Domiloff,” she said. “Those were no idle words.”

He bowed low.

“We will go to your brother,” he said.