In the streets there was no high-bred reserve; seeing him there, the capital went into a madness of enthusiasm.
The rest of the day, the state banquet, passed in no less dazzling excitement. But in the midst of all Adrian found an instant to toss a word to Allard.
"Is it 'almost,' or quite, to-day?" he demanded.
Happy, dazed, uncomprehending yet content, Allard met the challenging eyes in an expressive glance; then for the first time in their years together, he impulsively stooped and touched his lips to the slim young hand.
"Not at all, sire," he answered most remorsefully.
Adrian's long lustrous eyes opened; perhaps no conquest of the day pleased him more.
"Come to me at five o'clock," he directed, and passed on.
Five o'clock. That hour had been generally accepted through the palace as the time when the Emperor would withdraw to snatch a brief rest before the celebrations of the night. From long custom Allard knew where the "come to me" signified, and very pleasant he found his return to the familiar routine. Somewhat before the time appointed, he went to the octagonal library, the room now flooded with quivering pink light from the approaching sunset.
A man turned from a window at his entrance.
"Ah, Monsieur Allard?" said Dalmorov's thin, cutting voice, "Pardon that I disturb you, dear monsieur, but the Emperor requested me to meet him here, and so—"