"He will have something to tell you—about me," she went on rather solemnly; "there he is. Good-night, dearest; I am tired and I want to be alone with my happiness—for I am happy to-night, Armand—very happy."
The lips of the lovers met in the shadow of the portico, and when Edward came through the hall he found the duke alone. The two men linked arms and fell to pacing up and down the gravelled space in front of the house. It was not yet eleven and quietude had once more settled down over the Casa Luzo. As they walked, Edward was relating to the duke how he had seen the two prisoners safely disposed of in one of the roomy cellars that ran out under the back courtyard, and had learnt from old Teresa, much to his satisfaction, that it was not likely that Dasso would put in an appearance for some days.
He and Mozara had paid two visits to Casa Luzo since the coming of Galva, but on the last of these the old woman had overheard that, thinking their prisoner perfectly hidden, and the news of her death accepted, Dasso would remain near the Palace waiting for the death of the king. As Edward mentioned the dying monarch he glanced slyly up at the duke's face, paused a moment, then:
"They are saying that your poor uncle can't last long."
At this his companion wheeled round on him.
"So you know my secret?"
"I am not blind, your Highness; you are Armand Enrico Marie, Prince of Alcador, heir-apparent to the throne of San Pietro."
"——which is the only one of the eleven titles I possess of which I am not proud. It is no honour to claim kinship with King Enrico. But I am glad you know, it saves explanations—I have asked Galva to be my wife."
Edward looked up quickly, then let his gaze rest on the tree tops of the forest.
"Ye gods," he murmured, then felt that the duke was regarding him curiously.