"Serenity, he worked in the palace kitchen and put poison in a cup of chocolate."
"I remember. He was tried; I had nothing to do with his case." He paused, considering; and the other stared at him in mute fascination. "Before I ring to have you removed, have you anything to say?"
"Gracious Highness, pardon!"
Stanief regarded him with scornful amazement.
"Pardon? You are mad, mon ami. Do you fancy me a child or a woman to set you free after this performance? Why should I pardon you? You do not interest me in the least. Go face your trial; my share in the incident is ended," and Stanief turned away.
"Royal Highness, mercy—I am afraid! Not that—I will—"
"What?"
"Buy," he offered desperately. "Royalty, not to sell my comrades—who are we in your sight—there is some one else, some one of the court who wishes your death."
Stanief stopped with his finger on the bell and bent his keen eyes on the livid face. It was not a pleasant spectacle, this sordid, trembling figure in the firelight, but an uglier specter loomed behind it.
"Go on, if you choose," he conceded. "You have my permission."