“By no means, madame—only on your powers. If you had married my brother, you and I would have ruled Europe. As it is, I fear you will find it difficult to rule the Balkans.”
“You are disappointed, Count, and therefore I can pardon your rudeness.”
“Disappointed, madame? Oh no; remember that I have seen a good deal. You do not imagine that I cannot make allowances for a child who has just grasped power, and for a lady who is anxious to get her daughter off her hands?”
“You had better give him what he wants, and let him go,” said the Princess, in a stage whisper to the King. “Otherwise you will have no peace in Thracia.”
“Count,” said the Prince of Dardania, “his Majesty is graciously pleased to grant your requests. Naturally the simplest plan would be to give orders to the police to convey you to the frontier immediately;” here Cyril raised his eyebrows, and the Prince, remembering the warnings of the Three Powers, hesitated and became somewhat confused, “but your long services—your friendship with the late King—in fact, your demands are granted. The ‘Gazette’ you suggest will appear to-morrow, and you will be free to leave Thracia on the following day.”
“And if you have any message of farewell to the Queen I shall be delighted to deliver it,” added the Princess, who was burning to revenge herself on Cyril for his words to her.
“Ottilie!” said her husband warningly, but Cyril smiled.
“You are too good, madame, but I cannot consent to place myself under a further obligation to you. You must remember that there is already a heavy account between us. I will do my best to repay your Royal Highness promptly; rely upon that.”
He bowed and went out, with a shrill laugh from the Princess, perhaps a little forced, ringing in his ears, and returned to his own house as he had come, to find Paschics watching for him, eager to announce, with much mystery, that there was a lady waiting to see him in his study. For a moment Cyril was startled, but only for a moment. The weakness passed, and he entered the room, to find the lady, who was dressed in black and wore a thick veil, standing by the window.
“Have you not done me harm enough yet?” he asked, never doubting who it was; but the lady raised her veil, and displayed, not the features of Ernestine, but the pale plain face of Anna Mirkovics.