“You remember Prince Rosmaran?” she said to Bellamy. “He left Servia only the day before yesterday. He has come to England on a special mission to the King.”
Bellamy shook hands.
“I think,” he remarked, “I had the honor of meeting you once before, Prince, at the opening of the Servian Parliament two years ago. It was just then, I believe, that you were elected to lead the patriotic party.”
The Prince bowed sadly.
“My leadership, I fear,” he declared, “has brought little good to my unhappy country.”
“It is a terrible crisis through which your nation is passing,” Bellamy reminded him sympathetically. “At the same time, we must not despair. Austria holds out her clenched hands, but as yet she has not dared to strike.”
The face of the Prince was dark with passion.
“As yet, no!” he answered. “But how long—how long, I wonder—before the blow falls? We in Servia have been blamed for arming ourselves, but I tell you that to-day the Austrian troops are being secretly concentrated on the frontier. Their arsenals are working night and day. Her soldiers are manoeuvering almost within sight of Belgrade. We have hoped against hope, yet in our hearts we know that our fate was sealed when the Czar of Russia left Vienna last week.”
“Nothing is certain,” Bellamy declared restlessly. “England has been ill-governed for a great many years, but we are not yet a negligible Power.”
Louise leaned a little towards him.