“Shall I tell them he funks it?” Muniment asked.
“He doesn’t—he doesn’t!” exclaimed the Princess.
“On what ground, then, shall I put it?”
“Tell them he has changed his opinions.”
“Wouldn’t that be rather like denouncing him as a traitor, and doing it hypocritically?”
“Tell them then it’s simply my wish.”
“That won’t do you much good,” Muniment said, with his natural laugh.
“Will it put me in danger? That’s exactly what I want.”
“Yes; but as I understand you, you want to suffer for the people, not by them. You are very fond of Robinson; it couldn’t be otherwise,” the young man went on. “But you ought to remember that, in the line you have chosen, our affections, our natural ties, our timidities, our shrinkings—” His voice had become low and grave, and he paused a little, while the Princess’s deep and lovely eyes, attaching themselves to his face, showed that in an instant she was affected by this unwonted adjuration. He spoke now as if he were taking her seriously. “All those things are as nothing, and must never weigh a feather beside our service.”
The Princess began to draw on her gloves. “You’re a most extraordinary man.”