"I will not forget."
Prince Michael seized Poluski's arm with a fine assumption of dignified cordiality. "So it was really you who sent that stammering youth with such an astounding message? Come, then. Tell me all about it. Was Alec actually in peril?"
He drew Felix up the stairs, out of earshot of the servants and orderlies in the wide hall. Felix sniffed.
"Odd thing," he grinned. "You are a Prince and I am an anarchist, yet both of us need a nip of brandy when we are disturbed. But I have the better of you in one respect, my dear Michael. My hand doesn't shake. Now, yours——"
The clasp on his arm loosened, lost some of its friendliness, and Prince Delgrado stood for an instant on the stairs.
"I tried to show a calm front before the others; but the predicament my son was in found the weak place in my armor," he said.
"My case exactly," said Felix. "Joan diagnosed the symptoms, and dosed me with cognac. You, I imagine, were your own physician."
"Ah, since you mention the lady, who is she?"
"Joan? A female divinity, one of the few charming women left in the world."
"Admirable! One can associate those qualities with residence in Paris; but in Delgratz, Felix, one finds them unusual—shall I say out of place?"