“We remember both our friends and our enemies, madame. And we have only friends and enemies. There is no middle course. If you would like time to think it over—”
“How much time?” She clutched at the words.
With time all things were possible. The King might die soon, that night, the next day. Better than any one, save his daughter Annunciata and the physicians, she knew his condition. The Revolutionists might boast, but they were not all the people. Once let the boy be crowned, and it would take more than these posing plotters in their theatrical setting to overthrow him.
“How much time may I have?”
“Women vary,” said Number Seven mockingly. “Some determine quickly. Others—”
“May I have a month?”
“During which the King may die! Alas, madame, it is now you who do us too little honor!”
“A week?” begged the Countess desperately.
The leader glanced along the line. One head after another nodded slowly.
“A week it is, madame. Comrade Five!”