"You spoke?" Adrian's cool voice broke in.
"Pardon, sire; an old pain caught my breath."
Unnoticed by one of its passengers, the automobile increased its speed, rocking softly from side to side, leaping with cat-like lightness the inequalities of the road. One might have imagined that the driver also fled from his own thoughts through the empty parkways. Allard saw nothing; here in the heart of Europe, by the Emperor's side, the hateful gray walls had closed around him and he relived the unlivable. He was stifling, suffocating, with the sweet spring air singing past like a strong wind.
A sharp whistle pierced above the whining purr of the motor, a shouted command. Allard started up, bewildered, and the black mood fell from him as a muffling garment cast aside. They had emerged again into the city, at the same gait.
"The police, sire," he warned reproachfully. "We must stop."
"I will not. Let them try to catch us."
"They will know the car."
"Then we will pay the fine, to-morrow. If they threaten worse I will pardon you."
The irony of that might have brought Allard's laugh if he had not been distracted by the view ahead.
"Not possible, sire; there is a regiment crossing at the head of the square. If we are examined—"