The Countess, still pale, looked at him scornfully. “You do my intelligence small honor.”
“Where peaceful methods will avail, our methods are peaceful, madame.”
“It was, then, in peace that you murdered Prince Hubert?”
“The errors of the past are past.” Then, with a new sternness: “Make no mistake. Whether through your agency or another, Countess, when the Cathedral bell rouses the city to the King’s death, and the people wait in the Place for their new King to come out on the balcony, he will not come.”
The Countess was not entirely bad. Standing swaying and white-faced before the tribunal, she saw suddenly the golden head of the little Crown Prince, saw him smiling as he had smiled that day in the sunlight, saw him troubled and forlorn as he had been when, that very evening, he had left them to go to his lonely rooms. Perhaps she reached the biggest moment of her life then, when she folded her arms and stared proudly at the shrouded figures before her.
“I will not do it,” she said.
Then indeed the tribunal stirred, and sat forward. Perhaps never before had it been defied.
“I will not,” repeated the Countess.
But Number Seven remained impassive. “A new idea, Countess!” he said suavely. “I can understand that your heart recoils. But this thing is inevitable, as I have said. Whether you or another but perhaps with time to think you may come to another conclusion. We make no threats. Our position is, however, one of responsibility. We are compelled to place the future of the Republic before every other consideration.”
“That is a threat.”