She glanced at him contemptuously.
“I suppose that when one conspires,” she said, “there is always danger. Baron Domiloff, I have followed you here because since noon yesterday there have been two attempts upon the life of the Englishman, Walter Brand.”
“Both bungled,” he remarked. “One is ill served, so far from home.”
She turned upon him fiercely.
“Have you forgotten what I told you only a few days ago?”
“One does not remember too long,” he answered, lightly, “the words of an angry woman.”
Her eyes flashed upon him wrathfully. The odour of the violets at her bosom seemed to fill the dark, stuffy room. He remarked suddenly how beautiful she was.
“If you do not know when a woman is in earnest,” she declared, “you are a fool. I have come to tell you this. That the moment evil happens to him I go at once to the King. I tell him everything. Mind, this is no idle threat. I swear to you that I will do this.”
A cloud of evil passions swept up from the man’s heart. He drew a little closer to her and took up his stand nearer the door.
“It is folly,” he said, in a low tone, “the man is working up all Europe with his accursed letters. He must be removed.”