But she held him away from her—held him away with arms trembling and convulsive, but inflexible; and there was something like terror in her eyes as she looked at him.
“No, no,” she gasped. “You are horrible to come here like this.”
“I love you!”
“It is too late!”
“It is not too late! Why is it too late?”
“Because—I do not—love you any more!”
“No?” he asked calmly, without any motion to release her. “Of course—in that case....”
But by this time the king was on his feet, his face purple.
“What is this farce?” he roared. “Jacopo—Mario—throw this fellow out!”
“One moment, sir,” said the stranger. “Perhaps the Baron Lappo will do me the honour to present me.”