“The Baroness refuses to admit us to her Majesty’s presence, Count, although she tells me that the Queen has sent away her maids, and is talking over the fire with Fräulein von Staubach. It is in vain that I——”
“Consider the hour, my dear Count,” said the Baroness reprovingly. “I must beg of you to retire immediately. It is in the highest degree irregular for you to seek an audience of the Queen at such a time.”
“My dear Baroness,” returned Cyril, “you know me pretty well by this time, and will believe me when I tell you that my business is of such importance that if you won’t consent to inform her Majesty of my desire to see her I must announce myself.”
After a glance at his face to assure herself that he was in earnest, the Baroness withdrew without a word, and the next sound that reached his ears was the Queen’s voice in the adjoining room.
“Count Mortimer here again? I thought we were free from him for a week at least! He asks to see me at this hour? The man must be mad. Most certainly I refuse to see him, Baroness. Be so good as to tell him that I shall know how to resent this intrusion.”
A low-toned remonstrance from the Baroness and a frightened murmur from Fräulein von Staubach followed, interrupted ruthlessly by Cyril.
“Madame,” he cried, approaching the door of communication, “I have returned at the risk of my life to bring you news of a plot which aims at the forcible conversion of your son to the Orthodox Church, and the subjugation of his kingdom to Scythia.”
“A plot to convert my son!” The door was thrown open, and Cyril had a momentary glimpse of a figure with terrified dark eyes, and rippling chestnut hair flowing over a white dressing-gown. Then the Baroness dashed forward, shutting the door in his face, and he heard her agonised voice—
“Madame, remember your position! I entreat your Majesty——”
The rest was inaudible, and Cyril stood fuming over the precious time which was being lost because the old woman would not allow him to see the Queen in a dressing-gown. But the door opened again almost immediately, and the Queen stood on the threshold, pale and calm. The other ladies had clad her in a loose black gown, and hidden away her hair under the flowing crape veil she wore in the daytime, and she looked a different being.