“There were a good many of them altogether,” said Caerleon, evasively.
“Was Louis there?” she persisted.
“Well—yes, he was,” admitted Caerleon.
“You need not be afraid of hurting my feelings,” said Nadia, her eyes gleaming ominously. “He has no special tenderness for me—he would have shot me once if another man had not knocked his hand up just in time, so don’t try to spare him.”
“My child,” said the Princess, “do not say what you may afterwards regret. Your unhappy brother is dead.”
“Dead?” said Nadia, awed. “Was he killed in the fighting?”
“No,” said the Princess, “afterwards. Do you wish to leave us, my child? His Majesty will be so kind as to excuse you,” and Nadia rose and left the room.
“What became of Louis O’Malachy?” asked Caerleon, returning to his place after opening the door for her. “All that I know about the outbreak is what I heard from your man just now, and he did not mention his name.”
“He was to be shot this morning with General Sertchaieff and others among the rebels who had belonged to the army,” said the Princess.
“I can’t say that I don’t think his fate was well deserved,” said Caerleon, hotly. “When I remember the way in which that fellow deceived us all—pretending that he had given up his commission in the Scythian army for the sake of throwing in his lot with Thracia, and how he took the oaths to me, and received the pay of our Government while all the time he was plotting against it—I feel as though shooting was too good for him. But that’s not all,” he rose from his seat and began to walk up and down the room. “As Miss O’Malachy says, when she came to Bellaviste to warn me that her father meant to murder me, he actually fired at her—would have killed her rather than allow her to betray his secret. There are some things one feels it very hard to forgive a man, though he is dead.”