“It will be ready for you in half an hour, my good woman,” said the actress. “Meantime, enter and wait.”
She admitted a muffled and closely-veiled figure, and, when she had closed the door, made an old-fashioned curtesy.
“You are Mrs. Smollett?” said the figure, in a low voice, after glancing round the studio.
“Elizabeth Smollett, your Grace, is my name,” quavered Mrs. Barry. “Ah, madam, you have had the courage to come hither.”
“Courage?” said the Duchess. “It needed none. If what your letter told me be true, it is time that some true friend of the Queen's came hither. Is it possible that your master, Sir Godfrey, knoweth naught of the plot?”
“He knoweth naught, madam. The head and front of the wicked business came to him as his valet de chambre with the best recommendations. It was only by accident that I discovered the fellow's motives. He was for three years at St. Germains.”
“At St. Germains! The wretch! Mrs. Smollett, your devotion to Her Majesty in this matter shall not go unrewarded. I can promise you that. They hope to seize the Queen! Merciful heaven! Are they fools enough to fancy that that act would further their ends? Ah, shall I now be avenged upon mine enemies who whisper to Her Majesty! And you, Smollett—you will bless the day you wrote to me.”
“Not so loud, your Grace,” whispered the actress. “There may be those at hand that we know not of. This is where your grace must be in hiding.” She led the Duchess up the studio to the curtain that hung across the retiring room. “Your Grace will be entirely hid in the recess of the door, and unless I am far mistaken you shall hear more than you ever expected. Now, madam, for God's sake remain fast hid behind the curtain. I shall return to my household duties lest I should be suspected.”
“You will bless this day,” whispered Her Grace from behind the portière.
Mrs. Barry put her finger to her lips as she noiselessly unlocked the door leading to the domed hall and then passed through.