“Baron de Grost,” he said, “you pass the limits of friendship when you ask such a question. I take the liberty of wishing you good-night.”
He moved towards the door. The Baron, however, was in the way—a strong, motionless figure, and his tone, when he spoke again, was convincing.
“Prince,” he declared, “I speak in your own interests. You have not chosen to answer my question. Let me answer it for you. The money to pay your debts, and I know not how much besides, was to come from the Government of a country with whom none of your name or nationality should willingly have dealings.”
The Prince started violently. The shock caused him to forget his new-found dignity.
“How, in the devil’s name, do you know that?” he demanded.
“I know more,” the Baron continued. “I know the consideration which you were to give for this money.”
Then the Prince began plainly to show the terror which had crept into his heart—the terror and the shame. He looked at his host like a man dazed with hearing strange things.
“It comes to nothing,” he said, in a hard, unnatural tone. “It is a foolish bargain, indeed. Between me and the throne are four lives. My promise is not worth the paper it is written upon. I shall never succeed.”
“That, Prince, is probably where you are misinformed,” the Baron replied. “You are just now in disgrace with your family, and you hear from them only what the newspapers choose to tell.”
“Has anything been kept back from me?” the Prince asked.