"Death?" he smiled. "Who knows? God defends the Empire. It lives on in my sons and yours."
"Amen!" said the Archduke solemnly.
"For the present," continued the other quietly, "silence! I shall advise you. You can rely upon Von Hoetzendorf?"
"Utterly. In two weeks I shall attend the grand maneuvers at Savajevo."
"Oh, yes, of course. You shall hear from me." He took a few steps toward the door of the arbor. "It does not do to stay here too long. We must join the others. Berchtold, you said, is coming?"
The Archduke nodded with a frown, and followed with the Admiral into the garden. The sun had declined and the warm glow of late afternoon fell upon the roses, dyeing them with a deeper red. But along the crimson alleys the three men walked calmly, the smaller one still gesturing with his ebony cane. Presently the sound of their footsteps upon the gravel diminished and in a moment they disappeared beyond the hedge by the greenhouses.
Renwick in his place of concealment trembled again. The reaction had come. He drew a long breath, moved his stiffened limbs and glanced at his companion. Her face was like wax, pale as death and as colorless. Her fingers in his were ice-cold. Her eyes, dark with bewilderment, sought his blankly like those of a somnambulist. Renwick rose stiffly to his knees and peered through the bushes.
"They have gone," he muttered.
"The Archduke!" she gasped. "You heard?"
He nodded.