She put her hand gently on Basilea's sleeve.
"It is getting too dark to remain here, and you have not even looked at my roses!"
Basilea admitted herself defeated. She was a little chagrined at the thought of the lame report she would have to give M. D'Avaux, but she could press no more, especially as she had an uneasy feeling that the Princess thought the less of her for the errand she had come upon.
She left talk of politics, and Mary accompanied her with easy courtesy to the front of the villa, where her hired chariot waited with her maid yawning herself to death over an old-fashioned romance by Mademoiselle de Scudery, which she had found in the inn parlour.
The sky was paling and flushing behind the great avenue of trees rich in their full leafage, and the rooks were noisy in the branches.
"This is a pretty spot, Highness," said Basilea, on the impulse of the moment.
Mary smiled.
Two men were mounting the few wide entrance steps. Basilea noticed them, because one was the red-breeched sailor whom she had seen yesterday beneath her window, the other was a slight gentleman in a circular mantle turned up over one shoulder, wearing riding boats and carrying a whip; Basilea saw his horse being led off by a bareheaded groom.
She could not restrain her curiosity at seeing the seaman entering the Prince's villa.
"Doth Your Highness know that man?" she asked.