And the Baron Lappo, his face a study, rose in his turn.
“Your Majesty,” he said, “this is M. Jeneski.”
Jeneski. Selden, of course, had recognized him, and Mrs. Davis, too, apparently, from the energy with which she now rushed forward, rescued her daughter from his grasp, and tried to kill him with a look. But to the king it was undoubtedly a blow, and for an instant his hand fumbled at his breast. Yet not for nothing had the old warrior reigned for sixty years in the midst of hate and violence, and his composure was back in a moment. He signed to Jacopo to close the door.
“M. Jeneski,” he said, with a bow, “I have often wished to meet you.”
“I must apologize for my abrupt entrance, sir,” said Jeneski, smiling his appreciation of the king’s aplomb, “but I feared that I should be too late.”
“Too late for what, sir?” asked the king.
“Too late for this ceremony,” explained Jeneski, with a gesture toward the papers on the table.
“Ah,” said the king, “you wish to witness it?”
“I wish to prevent it,” corrected Jeneski quietly.
The king wrinkled his brow incredulously, and his colour heightened a little.