"Exactly. I thought you ought to be told. After to-day there will be—no Princess Haganè. She leaves my roof and must publicly relinquish my name."
The prince spoke blandly. Pierre's eyes seemed to protrude. The shock of this menace counteracted the coffee. "She is innocent—" He corrected himself. "Why? What has she done?"
Haganè smiled pleasantly. "Her innocence, as you call it, is too dangerous. My duties, you know. She distracts me, tires me. A mere child!"
"You never cared for her. You took her from me to show your hellish power. Now you will cast her out, dishonor her—relentlessly, for a new whim!"
"Monsieur should know best why I cannot trust her."
A wild thought leaped like flame about Pierre's distorted fancy. "Can you mean that she goes utterly free—free to be happy—back to her father's home?"
Haganè lowered his eyes. When he spoke his tone was conciliatory, even regretful.
"Onda, being my kerai, will scarcely consent to receive her."
"Monsters! both of you. I see—I might have known. But the Todds, thank God, are her friends!"
Haganè half lifted heavy lids. "Minister Todd,—who has signed that stolen paper,—may—er—hesitate."