“I am mystified, your honour. It was you then whom M. Boreski bound me by all I hold sacred to guard with my life. And yet you are an American—a stranger—an exile. He told me——”
He stopped and shook his head in perplexity.
“What did he tell you?”
“That I was to serve your honour as if you were the Little Father himself; God keep him; that there was danger from the desperado Vastic; that I should probably have to guide you by by-ways to the Palace from the villa. And yet you are an American. I am filled with wonder.”
“Don’t I look like an American, Ivan?” I asked, smiling.
“Your honour has shaved since I first saw you. Then I thought you were the—— I trembled at your look, my lord.”
“Had I been what you thought, you looked for danger then?”
“God would have given me strength to protect His Majesty. I am mystified; but it is not for me to ask questions.”
“You know this Vastic, then?” I asked next.
“He is a good man, absolutely sincere, your—your honour,” he fumbled now over the way he should address me, and his manner had changed from frankness to nervous excitement. “Quite sincere; but a madman on one point; and his madness makes him dangerous and reckless.”