“Perhaps not,” he said. “You shall explain to me.”
“Brott refuses to compromise,” the Duke said. “He stands for a ministry of his own selection. Heaven only knows what mischief this may mean. His doctrines are thoroughly revolutionary. He is an iconoclast with a genius for destruction. But he has the ear of the people. He is to-day their Rienzi.”
The Prince nodded.
“And Lucille?” he remarked. “What does she say?”
“I have not spoken to her,” the Duke answered. “The news has only just come.”
“We will speak to her,” the Prince said, “together.”
Afterwards in the library there was a sort of informal meeting, and their opportunity came.
“So you have failed, Countess,” her host said, knitting his grey brows at her.
She smilingly acknowledged defeat.
“But I can assure you,” she said, “that I was very near success. Only on Monday he had virtually made up his mind to abandon the extreme party and cast in his lot with Letheringham. What has happened to change him I do not know.”