For half an hour the terrace remained hushed and silent under the noon sunshine, the tree-shadows wavering back and forth across the small, motionless figure.
"Monsieur Allard!" at last the summons rang.
Allard returned serenely, of course ignorant of the recent stormy discussion.
"In a few months," Adrian stated, without looking at him, "the Princess Iría de Bourbon will come here to be married to the Regent. I wish you to be one of the escort that will meet her and bring her to the capital."
"But, sire—"
"You are surprised?"
"I did not know the Grand Duke contemplated marriage, sire," Allard explained, stunned.
"He did not; it is I who contemplated it. You will go?"
"Surely there will be many more fitted for such an honor. Of course it will be as you arrange, sire; but I would rather stay here."
Adrian moved, sighing; his lip took a softer curve and for the first time he almost looked his few years. "If you like her, monsieur, Feodor will like her. I want you to see her, to tell him good of her. She is different from any one else—when we were both in Italy we saw each other every day, and I know. She is so gentle; I want her here."