“The time for what?”
“For Your Majesty’s return. Even now the unpopularity of His Imperial Highness, Franz––”
“Éloin!” Maximilian stopped him sharply. But he could not hide the flash of his own blue eyes.
“What would Your Majesty? In Vienna, in Budapest, in your own Venetia, sire, they long for you; at least as regent till the crown prince shall come of age. Would you rebuke them also, as you do me?”
Charlotte stared at the Belgian in amazement and distrust. He had only just warned her how Jacqueline had kindled Maximilian’s Austrian hopes in order to get him out of Mexico, and here he was borrowing that woman’s guile. And here was Maximilian, too, softening under the enervating blandishment, softening behind his frowns for the officious meddler.
“There, there, Éloin,” he said, “you know that I must be inexorable. But in the Journal Officiel it will appear that you 269are gone on a secret mission, though you have no mission at all. None at all, do you understand, sir?”
Éloin protested that he understood.
“None,” repeated the Emperor, “except to win back my confidence. When you have taken leave of Her Majesty, you may come to my cabinet to bid me farewell.”
As Maximilian left them, Charlotte turned on the favorite. “Indeed, Monsieur Éloin?” she said in utter scorn.
“But, Your Majesty––”