"I—am not sure, Monseigneur!"' she said, in hesitation, for so ragged and weakly a peal had been evolved by the ringer that the sound might have passed unnoticed by ears less keen than his.
"They are all asleep or drunk belowstairs!" He began to raise himself stiffly from the sofa. "I will go down...."
"No; I will go!" she said.
And she left the room. He let himself sink back on the sofa. "Grosser Gott!" he said to himself. "How near a thing! ... And that the little Fury should have stopped the brand from quenching.... Well, now, at this rate, I may live another thirty years. Not that I should find much zest in a prolonged spell of power and authority. The King-Emperor in the ordinary course must die before long. My master in that event would be a good-natured booby, who in assuming the supreme dignities of Imperial authority would value the stage setting beyond anything else!"
He quoted with acerbity increased by recent suffering:
"'Pomp and solemnity' ... 'The ancient Crown of Charlemagne from Vienna' ... 'I shall write to my wife to-night' ... Pray do!... And while Your Royal Highness is about it you had better consult little Prince William, who would probably give you as valuable advice."
His thoughts reverted to the fair-haired, puny-limbed eleven-year-old urchin in kilt and plaid of Royal Stuart tartans.... "Now," said he, "what sort of a future Emperor may be enclosed in that husk?... That the boy has a crippled left arm, and a capital set of sharp teeth, which he uses on the calves of his Military Governor and tutors, is practically all I know of him.... Come in!"
He had been so lost in thought as to miss the sound of chains undone and bolts drawn back, though he had shivered unconsciously as the opening of the hall door had admitted a volume of fresh, piercing air to the heated house. Now he reared himself upright upon the sofa, stared for a moment at the figure that responded to his gruff "Come in!" and burst into an irresistible laugh.
"Quite right, Mr. Breagh!" he said, in his clear and fluent English. "I told you to come up to me at whatever hour you might get back. But I forgot that you would naturally visit Madame de Bayard in the costume proper to Jean Jacques Potier, to whom I suppose that extraordinary overcoat and the wolfskin cap must have belonged. Frankly, I did not recognize you.... The condition of your clothes, and that bandage on your forehead are responsible, more than my lapse of memory. You certainly look rather shaken. Let me hope you have sustained no serious hurt?"
P. C. Breagh grinned mirthlessly, and looked ruefully down at his snowy boots and trousers, from which the melting snow was beginning to drip in little rills upon the carpeted floor. By the light of the two gas lamps depending above the table, it could be seen that the gory bandage surmounting his pale face had been applied by an experienced hand. He needed no immediate surgical aid. But his blue lips and drawn and pallid features betrayed him exhausted. The Minister, noting this, pointed to a chair.