"I know, Monsieur Martin, we have not met, but you were with the Duke at Cadiz. You have come in his interest. In his cause, I acknowledge no conventions." In her voice was the fusing of condescension and regal graciousness. "It was wise," she thoughtfully added, "to shave your mustache, but even so Von Ritz will know you. You cannot be too guarded."
For an instant Benton stood with his hands braced on the coping regarding her curiously. Evidently he stood on the verge of some revelation, but the rôle in which her palpable mistake cast him was one he must play all in the dark.
"You can trust me," she said with an impassioned note but without elevating her voice. "I am the Countess—"
"Astaride," finished Benton.
Then he cautiously added the inquiry: "Have you heard the plans that were discussed by the Duke, and Jusseret and Borttorff?"
"And yourself and Lieutenant Lapas," she augmented.
"And Lapas and myself," admitted Benton, lying fluently.
"I know only that Louis is to wait at his lodge to hear by wireless whether France and Italy will recognize his government," she hastily recited; "and that on that signal you and Lapas wait to strike the blow."
"Do you know when?" inquired the American, fencing warily in the effort to lead her into betrayal of more definite information.
"It must be soon—or never! But tell me, has Louis come? Has he reached his hunting lodge? Does he know that guards are at the rock? Do you, or Lapas, wait to flash the signal from the look-out? Ah, how my gaze shall be bent toward the flag-staff." Then, as her eyes wandered out to sea, her voice became soft with dreams. She laughed low and shook her head. "Louis, Louis!" she murmured. "When you are King! But tell me—" again she was anxious, executive, imperious—"tell me everything!"