She flushed, as if she had been stung; but she obeyed, entreating no more.
“You must go, then?” she said presently—“for real and true, Cherry?”
He shrugged impatiently.
“Haven’t I told you that I’m to receive his keys of office to-morrow from the old Prefect at Le Prieuré, and the congés of his staff? Morituri me salutant. Shall I be Cæsar and subject to an apron-string? There are rogues waiting to be hung, and conscripts to be plucked and dressed. Be quick, child, be quick, or di Rocco’s murderer may escape me!”
“Cherry!” she cried out aghast—“was he murdered?”
He gave a curious violent laugh.
“The King says so: and the King can speak no lie. Come, I must go.”
She busied herself about his needs and comforts. Once she paused.
“When will you be back?”
“How can I tell!” he answered hurriedly. “What a drag on a restless wheel! There! don’t cry. I shall come again, never fear. I shall—”