“And he would be ready to face it, were I to act as you suggest.”
Was she really a person so great in the political world that her detention at the British Embassy would be a sufficient cause for war between two empires? It was an amazing statement, and yet her air, quiet and grave, somehow carried conviction with it.
“Your Highness,” said Wilfrid, with a sort of reproachful despair, “have you not mystified me long enough? May I not know who you are? You promised at our last meeting to reveal to me your name and history.”
“Let me redeem my word, then.”
She sat down within a hemicycle that formed part of the parapet of the terrace, and motioned Wilfrid to a place beside her.
At their back flowed the shining river; before them, and bordering the whole length of the terrace, rose a grove of dark pines whose leaves rippled to the night-breeze. From the far-off ballroom came the faint sound of the orchestral music.
Though attentive to every word spoken by the Duchess, Wilfrid, mindful of the four men in the chocolate-coloured liveries, kept a watchful eye upon all sides, though he doubted very much whether the quartette would show themselves so long as he was with her.
Now and again groups of laughing masqueraders would make their appearance; and, at their approach, the Duchess either suspended her talk or continued in a whisper till the revellers had gone by.
“I am at your service, Lord Courtenay. Question me.”
“First, then, explain the puzzling mystery of how I came to save your life without retaining any remembrance of that event.”