"Come, confess. Or shall I guess? I am ungrateful, unappreciative, and swayed by Dalmorov; not so? Moreover I am dangerous, and making my Regent extremely uncomfortable."
"Oh, no, sire. He bade me never blame you, indeed. He said nothing like that," denied madame impetuously, then stopped short.
"Then what did he tell you?"
"But I was not to repeat," she pleaded.
This time Adrian laughed outright and leaned forward to capture one of the lily-leaf hands and lift it to his lips. They were seated in the great octagonal library, which of all the palace was the Emperor's favorite room, Iría employed with a bit of the intricate embroidery always brought at his especial request. He was fond of watching her while her attention was fixed on the pretty task; and until a few months before Stanief had not infrequently made a third at the gracious pretense of domesticity. To-day, at the opposite side of the apartment and out of hearing, Allard chatted with two of Iría's ladies.
"You have not repeated, cousine," the inquisitor assured her. "I myself guessed. And since I appear to have guessed worse than the truth, you had better correct me. I will not tell Feodor."
She looked up at him then, flushing all over.
"If I tell you, sire," she retorted with pride, "I shall say so to monseigneur as soon as I see him. Must I speak?"
"I think you had better, chère cousine."
She laid the glowing tissue in her lap and met the raillery of his glance quite seriously.