She laid her slender fingers upon his arm. Slenderer than ever they seemed to him now, and unbejewelled save for one great emerald set in dull gold which burned upon her fourth finger.
“What can you do, Nicholas? You know the meaning of it all. It is the coming of Sara Van Decht.”
He nodded thoughtfully.
“I myself,” he said, “have watched—and seen. But, Marie, the daughter of a tradesman, though he were rich enough to buy a kingdom, can never sit upon the throne of Theos.”
“He is masterful,” she said, “and I think that he cares for her. He will have his own way.”
Reist was wearing his uniform, for there had been a reception at the Austrian Minister’s. As though by accident he touched the hilt of his sword.
“Our honour is engaged, Marie,” he said. “You may safely leave all in my hands.”
“He is your King!” she reminded him, with a sidelong glance, as though anxious to watch the effect of her words.
“And I,” he answered, hotly, “am Nicholas, Duke of Reist. Since when, Marie, have the men of Tyrnaus reached a pinnacle when the Reists could not address them as equals? Our quarterings are more numerous, our House is more ancient than theirs. Ughtred of Tyrnaus must answer to me as would any other gentleman of his rank if the time should come when our honour demands it.”