‘She is here—in the hotel now?’
The General bowed.
‘I have heard that she is beautiful,’ said the Queen, with a quick glance towards her companion. ‘How is it that you have never brought her to Court, you who come so seldom yourself?’
Vincente made no reply.
‘However, bring her to me now.’
‘She has travelled far, Madame, and is not prepared for presentation to her Queen.’
‘This is no time for formalities. She is about to run a great risk for my sake, a greater risk than I could ever ask her to run. Present her as one woman to another, General.’
But General Vincente bowed gravely and made no reply. The colour slowly rose to the Queen Regent’s face—a dull red. She opened her fan, closed it again, and sat with furtive downcast eyes. Suddenly she looked up and met his gaze.
‘You refuse,’ she said, with an insolent air of indifference. ‘You think that I am unworthy to—meet your daughter.’
‘I think only of the exigency of the moment,’ was his reply. ‘Every minute we lose is a gain to our enemies. If our trick is discovered Aranjuez will be no safer for your Majesty than is Toledo. You must be safely in Madrid before it is discovered in Toledo that you have taken the other route, and that the person they have mistaken for you is in reality my daughter.’