Idris viewed with interest the likeness of the man who for about the space of a minute had flashed across his childhood's days.
"A man who will ever command my respect," he murmured, "since in rescuing my father from prison he was forced by that act to become an exile from his native land."
An expression of pain passed over Lorelie's face.
"Mr. Breakspear, you do not know what you are saying."
"Forgive me. I promised never to allude to that event, and I am breaking my word. I apologize."
And he wondered, as he had often wondered, why reference to this matter should trouble her. She had no cause to be ashamed of her father's deed. Captain Rochefort's act in favour of a friend whom he believed to be innocent was, from Idris' point of view, a gallant and romantic enterprise, and in the judgment of most persons would deserve condonation, if not approval.
After the portrait of Captain Rochefort, what most interested Beatrice was an antique vase standing upon the carved mantel. It was of gold, set with precious stones, and the interior was concealed from view by a tight-fitting lid.
"What a pretty vase!" she said, and with Lorelie's sanction she lifted it from the mantel. As she did so a cold tremor passed over her. She placed the urn upon the table, and in a moment the feeling was gone. She took up the vase again, and the unpleasant sensation returned. Was this due to something exhaled from the interior of the urn? She drew a deep breath through her nostrils, but failed to detect any odour.
Puzzled and annoyed, Beatrice became morbidly curious to learn its contents.
"The lid fits very tightly," she said, addressing Lorelie. "How do you remove it?"