“Tobie! No, on the contrary, you will permit him to wait undisturbed, until I come.”
A few minutes later Jacqueline beheld a tall figure in elegant charro garb striding the length of her salon. As she entered, her guest threw off sombrero and Spanish cloak, and revealed the drawn and troubled features of the Emperor of Mexico.
“Your Majesty has returned to His capital!” she exclaimed. “Then it is true––”
“That I shall cling to my play-empire? But I do not know yet, mademoiselle, I do not know yet. If I did, I should not be here, here in your house for the first time, and against your wishes––”
“Will Your Highness be seated?”
Maximilian flung himself wearily into an armchair. The fire of the enthusiast had died out of his eyes, and the fire of fever had left them faded. They reminded one of the blue of old-fashioned china.
“But why––” she began.
“Why come to you, you mean? I don’t know; instinct, I suppose.”
“Isn’t that rather vague? Your Imperial Highness returns to the City, to his palace––”
“Not to his palace, mademoiselle, not while it would seem a mockery of my poor imperial state, but to an hacienda in the suburbs. If I enter my Mexican palace again, it will be because I have decided to remain an emperor.”