The Princess looked at Armand and gave a faint shudder, but made no comment.
In a moment the maid returned. “It is as you wish, Monsieur le—Monsieur,” as the Archduke’s gesture stopped the title. “Madame awaits you at once.”
In the room adjoining the boudoir, the Archduke left the others and went in alone.
Mrs. Spencer curtsied.
“Your Highness honors me,” she said.
“Pray, madame,” said he, returning her greeting with the curtest of military salutes, “let us eliminate unnecessary ceremony—this is an official visit, made at your particular request; if we are ready to begin, I will call my witnesses.”
She watched him smilingly, pressing down the roses that lay across her breast—red roses, on a black gown that ended far below the dead-white neck and shoulders.
“What a cold-blooded brute you are, Armand,” she mocked. “Can it be, that the pretty, innocent, little doll, out yonder in the Palace, has found a drop that is warm even when fresh from the heart?”
He looked at her in steady threat.
“Madame, I have told you I am here for but one purpose; beyond that, even in conversation, I decline to go. I tried to make it clear to you at the Inn, how I would come, and why. I do not remember your record, nor even know your name; if I did, it would be my duty to send you immediately out of Valeria, and under escort. If, however, you presume to use this occasion to become offensive, I shall be obliged to remember, and to know.”