"I obeyed orders, sire," he retorted demurely. "May I drive?"
"La belle excuse! However, I admit the coercion. No, you may not drive; I will consider your reputation the rest of the way."
This time they turned home, at a more modest pace. Again they ran the gauntlet of the brilliant, sullen streets, and Allard's heart lost a beat with each halt made necessary by the crowd or each glance from the knots of men gathered on the corners. At the sleepy garage they at last arrived, and left the automobile.
It was but a short distance to the palace, and they walked in silence until almost before the door, when Adrian paused for an instant.
"You guard me so carefully, with so much energy, my inconsistent Allard," he observed, the lighter manner of the last hours hardened into his usual coldness. "Have you then not thought what it would mean to your beloved Regent if I were removed?"
"Sire, if I thought of that it would be to guard you with double care," Allard flashed, shocked and deeply wounded. "Surely I owe so much." And after a moment, recovering a little, "For that matter, even the Baron Dalmorov admits the protection that the Regent draws around your Imperial Majesty. Sire, if the Grand Duke planned treason, has he not had ample opportunities before now?"
"Are you trying to convince me that some one still exists who possesses a sense of duty?"
"Perhaps you will more readily credit a sense of honor, sire."
"Perhaps. So it is a point of honor to take care of me?"
"Yes, sire."