She made no answer, walking slowly on beside me, her arm linked in mine, the starlight glimmering on her bent head. Down the road beyond us the illuminated windows of my house glimmered. As we moved toward them along the stony highroad, I said:
"Thusis dear, I know nothing about you or about your affairs. I do not even guess your identity. But that you and your sister are here for the purpose of taking these miserable kings across the frontier into France, by violence, I do know.
"And this, also, I have learned, that, if you attempt to execute this coup-de-main, my friend Shandon Smith will do all he can to prevent it."
The girl stopped as though I had struck her and stared at me in the silvery lustre of the stars.
"What?" she said slowly.
"I have told you what Smith told me. He said that he didn't care whether or not I informed you. He added that, in case I chose to inform you, I should also repeat to you the following couplet:
'Grecian gift and Spanish fig
Help the Fool his grave to dig.'"
A bright flush stained her face yet she seemed to be more astounded than angry.
"Is it possible," she said, "that your friend Mr. Smith—this Norwegian promoter—repeated that couplet to you?"
"He certainly did repeat it to me, Thusis."