“But we could at least see the safes. They interest us particularly.”
“The safes, signore! Pooh, pooh, they have been made into furnaces long ago.”
“But the tower–we can visit that without troubling you. We are writing a book on curious towers.”
The man shrugged his shoulders obstinately. “After to-morrow night, perhaps. I do not know. Certainly not till then. And even then our princess may not care to have the gentlemen come. She goes to Paris the day after, and the palace will be closed.”
This was alarming news.
“Closed!” persisted St. Hilary, and it was impossible to mistake the note of satisfaction in his voice. “Closed! And does no one stay to take care of it?”
“But certainly,” replied the servant suspiciously, “I stay and all the servants; and then, let me tell the gentlemen, unless the princess commands, no one, not even the king, has admittance.”
I thought St. Hilary’s eagerness most indiscreet, but he was in no way abashed.
“It is to be a very exclusive ball, I suppose.”
“Of an exclusiveness that will exclude all Inglesi and forrestieri,” cried the servant maliciously, and shut the door in our faces.