Now she only thought of her project. When first she had talked of commissioning Le Monarque, milor had entrusted her with all necessary directions by which Captain Barre could most easily reach the Stuart prince and his friends. It was but a very few weeks, nay days ago, that she had been quite convinced that the King himself would be foremost in the general desire to fit out an expedition for the rescue of the unfortunate Jacobites, and naturally the fitting-out of such an expedition would have been entrusted primarily to herself and incidentally to her husband.
These directions she still had. All she had to do now was to embody them in the secret orders which Gaston de Stainville would hand over to the Commander of Le Monarque. Further orders would be anent getting the prince and his friends on board, and the route to be taken homeward, the better to ensure their safety.
Beyond that she would need some sort of token which, when shown to Charles Edward Stuart by Captain Barre, would induce the young prince to trust himself and his friends unconditionally to Le Monarque. Lord Eglinton's signet ring had been spoken of for this object the day of the Young Pretender's departure, but now of course she could not ask milor for it. On the other hand she felt quite sure that a written word from her would answer the necessary purpose, a brief note sealed with the Eglinton arms.
The thought of the seal as an additional message of good faith first occurred to her when she once more reached the West Wing of the palace.
From the great square landing where she now stood, a monumental door on her right gave on her own suite of apartments. On the left was the long enfilade of reception rooms, with the vast audience chamber and milor's own withdrawing room beyond.
She deliberately turned to the left, and once more traversed the vast and gorgeous halls where, half an hour ago, she had suffered such keen humiliation and such overwhelming disappointment. She forced herself not to dwell on that scene again, and even closed her eyes with a vague fear that the mental vision might become materialized.
Beyond the audience chamber there were two or three more reception rooms, and from the last of these a door masked by a heavy portière, gave on milor's study. All these apartments were now deserted, save for a few flunkeys who stood about desultorily in the window embrasures. From one of them Lydie asked if M. le Contrôleur des Finances was within, but no one remembered having seen milor since the petit lever, and it was generally thought that he had gone to Trianon. Lydie hesitated a moment before she opened the door; she scarcely ever entered this portion of the palace and had never once been in milor's private rooms. But she wanted that seal with the Eglinton arms, and would not admit, even to herself, that her husband's presence or absence interested her in the least.
But on the threshold she paused. Milor was sitting at a gigantic escritoire placed squarely in front of the window. He had obviously been writing; at the slight sound of the creaking door and the swish of Lydie's skirts, he raised his head from his work and turned to look at her.
Immediately he rose.
"Your pardon for this intrusion, milor," she said coldly, "your lacqueys gave me to understand that you were from home."