“Will Your Highness kindly let me pass?”
“And I know, I alone, that nefer haf you toward myself once felt, once shown, that which––”
469A sharp, indignant cry escaped her. Following her gaze he saw the American pass on down the corridor and out of hearing.
“Now who,” exclaimed the chagrined prince, “would ever have imagined such delicacy of breeding!”
“And don’t ever again,” cried Jacqueline furiously, “imagine that I stand in need of being righted!” Wherewith she too was gone, leaving her clumsy knight staring blankly after her.
A few moments later Driscoll knocked.
It was the first meeting of these two men since the memorable afternoon at Cuernavaca, when Driscoll had surprised Jacqueline listening to royalty’s shameless suit. Now he beheld Fatality’s retribution for that day’s bitterness. Retribution, yes. But it was not restitution. The girl he loved had just passed him in the corridor with a slight casual nod, and he would not, could not, stretch forth a hand to stop her. Instead, the smile so ironical of Fate had touched his lips.
“I was sent by Señor Juarez, sir,” he addressed the archduke in the tone of military business. “The President is afraid your three days of reprieve will be misunderstood. He sent for me as I was leaving San Luis yesterday, and I–I was to tell you––”
“You need not hesitate, colonel.”
“Well, that you must not hope for pardon, for the sentence will positively be carried out day after to-morrow. That–I believe that is all.”