"Surely you have heard, Miss Baxendale, that it is only a matter of months, perhaps weeks. There will be trouble then, I'm afraid. You see, the heir-apparent is not popular. It will be the chance for a strong man then."
"But this heir—is he here, in Corbo?"
"Here? he's never here. It's little he troubles about San Pietro. They say he's in Africa now, shooting lions or something silly. The man who keeps his throne warm for him will hardly welcome him when he does come back."
"And who will this man be—this man who keeps his throne warm?"
The young soldier turned and pointed with his cane to where Señor Dasso's house rose, gaunt and forbidding, above the roofs and gables of the old town.
"Dasso, undoubtedly—and with him will rise others. I am a friend of Dasso's," he added meaningly.
"Which means——?"
The lieutenant made an expressive gesture with his shoulders.
"Who knows? A dukedom perhaps"; then, as he looked at her, "I shall have to be looking out for a duchess."
The girl laughed, and gazed out over the sea.