"Russia pretended to hate him. Does she? You know!
"But history gives us only two Bulgarian princes from 1879 to 1915. How is that, Count Cassilis? Were there only two?—Alexander of Battenberg, whom you were afraid to murder, and this fat-jowled Ferdinand of today——"
"The man is crazy, I think," remarked Count Cassilis to the Countess.
Wildresse merely gazed at him out of lackluster eyes, and went on speaking with monotonous and terrible simplicity:
"History has lied to the world. There was another prince after Alexander. Every chancellery in Europe knows it, but never mentions it. A few others outside know it; you among others.... And I.
"England and France found him. The Templars of Tenedos were not all dead. The race of the hereditary Prince of Marmora was not extinct—the race of that man whose head Saladin cut off with his own hand—the race of Djani the Paladin, and of Raymond de Châtillon—the Princess of Marmora! England found him—Philip de Châtillon—and forced him on Russia and Germany and Austria in secret conference. The Porte promised assent; it had to. Before he was presented for election to the Bulgarian people—a matter of routine merely—he was crowned and consecrated, and you know it! He was already as truly the ruler of Bulgaria as your Czar is today of all the Russias. And you know that, too! And that time, whoever gave you your orders, and whatever they may have been, my orders from you spelled murder!"
There was a moment's silence; Cassilis had turned his sneering, pallid face on Wildresse as though held by some subtle and horrible fascination, and he sat so, screwing up his golden mustache, his fishy blue eyes fixed, his lips as red as blood, and his wide, thin ears standing out translucent against the lighted lamp behind him.
Delisle, Warner, Gray, watched Wildresse with breathless attention; the Countess de Moidrey sat with Philippa's hand in hers, staring at this man who was about to die, and who continued to talk.
Only Philippa's face remained outwardly tranquil, yet she also was terribly intent upon what this man was now saying.
But Wildresse's head began to wag again with the palsy-like movement; he muttered, half to himself: