“You fatigue me with this constant reiteration, M. le Ministre.” Ernestine spoke pettishly. “I have told you already that I have no one to suggest. There is not a prince in Europe that I would marry if he asked me—still less to whom I would send through you to ask him to marry me.”
“Not a prince, perhaps, madame.” M. Drakovics spoke meaningly, watching the changing colour of her face, “But if there is any individual of a less exalted rank who has had the happiness to attract your Majesty’s favourable attention, do not, I entreat you, hesitate to confide the fact to me. The opposition of the Powers need not be fatal, for many things forbidden by Congresses are effected by diplomacy. Nay, the difference of rank might even smooth our path, since, in the case of a person who was not of royal blood, there would be no question of sharing the duties of the regency, while he would yet be at hand to support and advise your Majesty in private. Is it possible, madame, that you have such a prospect of relief from our difficulties to suggest to me?”
For a moment Ernestine was tempted to yield to his importunity; but the remembrance of Cyril’s injunctions prevailed, and she rose suddenly from her seat at the table.
“We will not discuss this subject further, monsieur. I have told you that it wearies me. Perhaps it will comfort you if I tell you that I have no intention of marrying again until my son is of an age to rule for himself.”
Brought to a standstill at the moment that he imagined his object attained, M. Drakovics could not wholly conceal the expression of rage and disgust that crossed his face. He suppressed it immediately; but Ernestine caught sight of it, and rejoiced that she had not betrayed herself. When he had left the Palace, she watched him from the window, curious to see whether the look would return when he thought himself unobserved. She did not catch it again; but she saw the Premier stop suddenly, strike his hands together, and smile, and her fears were stirred at once.
“He is plotting something against Cyril!” she said to herself, and returning to the table, scribbled a tiny note, then called a footman, and desired him to give it to Count Mortimer immediately, before he left the Palace to attend the meeting of the Cabinet.
CHAPTER XIX.
A LITTLE TOO FAR.
“Dearest,—Do not allow the Premier to take you by surprise. I have told him nothing.
Ernestine.”
This was all that was contained in the carefully sealed envelope which Cyril received from the messenger as he descended the steps of the Palace, but it was enough to put him on his guard. Lighting a match, he burned the note to its last corner, and scattered the ashes abroad, then hastened his steps towards the residence of M. Drakovics. What might be in store for him he did not know; but at least he would do his best to get it over before the Council met, and so spoil any plan the Premier might have formed for denouncing him in the presence of his colleagues. As he intended, he reached the house before any of the other Ministers, and passing through the room in which the Cabinet was to meet, came upon M. Drakovics in his private office beyond it.