"They will not search it without my consent, but I shall grant it. Come."
A hand closed on Allard's arm; he was guided swiftly down a tinted and gilded companionway, across several rooms no less brilliant, and finally halted in a jewel box state-room.
"The clothes lie ready; get into them as soon as possible and come back to me. Lose no time, and toss the things you wear into that chest," came the directions. "I dare send no one to aid you."
"I understand," Allard answered, equally collected. In those Palermo days, it had been Don John who had lent Don Feodor a dinner dress; there would be little difficulty in the substitution now.
The other man went out to the salon. Touching a bell on the table, he gave his outer garments to the attendant who appeared.
"I shall not dress for dinner," he stated. "Let it be served here, now."
"Your Royal Highness is obeyed."
"And my companion is a gentleman who takes Dancla's place; let the suite be arranged for him."
"Yes, your Royal Highness."
His Royal Highness sat down in an arm-chair, his dark eyes more drowsily lustrous than usual as he listened to the din on shore. His old-world beauty of feature was characterized very strongly by the locked tranquillity of expression seen in those who live constantly under the observation of others; he wore a mask of repose not readily lifted.