"Why should I wish to tell?" I asked her in return. "I have no interest in Bharbazonian politics. Neither have I any friends in this country who would be benefited by my information. But I tell you frankly that, if there were any way by which I could prevent you from continuing this dreadful masquerade, I would gladly make use of it."
My answer staggered her. But I wished her to understand me thoroughly.
"Why?" she gasped.
"Because I pity you."
It was a tense moment for me. If I had read this girl aright she was a womanly woman and her heart had often rebelled against her lot. If I was to convince her of my sincerity, I must show her that I understood; that I knew how much she detested playing the part of a man; that I sympathized with her. Knowing that I felt this interest in her, she must appreciate that I would be the last man in the world to make the performance harder for her to bear.
She looked at me in wonder, while her assurance in herself vanished. Her knees became weak and she suddenly sat down. But it seemed as if fate were against me. Just when I needed her undivided attention most, there came a knock upon the door that startled us both. Solonika recovered her composure instantly, remembering the business in hand.
"Who's there?" she called, watching me for any move to escape. But I made no sign.
"Your Highness rang,"—it was the voice of Therese, the maid.
"Tell my father to come here instantly," ordered the Princess. She was determined to carry out her original plan of submitting everything to her father. Therese ran upon her errand, for there was that in Solonika's voice which lent the maid the wings of fear. The Duke would soon be here; there was not much time left me.
"Your friends will miss you," smiled the Princess.