“Oh, blessed innocence! Do you think you would ever be admitted into the Scythian Consulate if you brought a letter from the Emperor of Scythia himself? or that your appearance, and especially your eyes, aren’t known to every bootboy about the place? Of course I shall go. You don’t catch me abusing the Duchess’s kindness by sending an objectionable fire-eater like you—objectionable to Scythia, I mean—to represent me. But I shall have a try at doing your business. What is it you want exactly?”
“To see her, to know from her own lips what has become of them!” cried Wylie. “Tell her that if I still hear nothing of them I shall follow her wherever she goes until I get the truth out of her.”
“Gently. This is eminently a case for the use of guile. Now let us devise a scheme. You must remember that it’s quite possible you won’t be allowed to see her even now. Let us try if we can’t arrange it so that I may manage to get hold of the needed information in any case.”
They laid their plans, and in due time Armitage delivered his letter at the Consulate, where it caused great searchings of heart. As he had anticipated, it proved impossible to treat an introduction from the art-loving British Princess in the cavalier fashion which was good enough for Wylie’s notes, and he was gratified by an intimation that the Princess Eirene would receive him the next day. When he presented himself with his portfolio of sketches, it was no surprise to him to be received first by Madame Ladoguin, who desired to impress upon him, with an unspeakably frank air of taking him into her inmost confidence, that he must not mention in her Royal Highness’s hearing the name of Captain Wylie. He had probably learnt from the rumours of the city of that person’s extraordinary behaviour with regard to the Princess, but he could not possibly guess what pain it had given her. Armitage faced the ambassador with a mien as open as her own.
“Thanks so much for telling me,” he said, in his boyish way. “I don’t suppose I should, in any case, have mentioned him unless the Princess had done it first, but now I’ll be extra careful.”
When he was ushered into Eirene’s presence, he caught a momentary look of disappointment on her face, a glance to see whether any one was following him, which told him in a moment that she had been cherishing the wild hope of seeing Wylie in disguise. The discovery took away half the difficulty of his task, by resolving at once the question whether she was or was not a willing accomplice in the conspiracy of silence. The weary languor of her tones when she asked him where he had studied, and how the Duchess had become acquainted with him, was welcome, as calculated to lull the suspicions of Mme. Ladoguin. It was quickly evident, however, that no temporary assurance was to be allowed to blind that lady’s vigilance. She stood between Eirene and Armitage, and handed to the former each sketch as it was taken from the portfolio. It was not until the entire contents had passed through her hands that she retreated to the end of the table, and sat down with some fancy work. Armitage observed that the work was not of a very engrossing nature, for while her hands were busy with it, her eyes were free to roam as before. Eirene was still looking through the sketches, now guaranteed harmless by her guardian herself.
“It has been a great pleasure to me to see your work,” she said graciously to the painter. “I only wish you had brought more portraits. The Duchess of Inverness says you have painted a half-length of the Duke for her.”
“I have a photograph of it here, ma’am,” and Armitage took the card from a pocket in the portfolio, contriving rather ostentatiously to exhibit first one side and then the other to the vigilant gaze of Mme. Ladoguin, somewhat in the manner of the conjurer who desires to assure his audience that there is no deception.
“Yes, I like that very much,” said Eirene, after studying the photograph carefully; “but I have never seen the Duke—or indeed any of the people you have shown me. Have you no portrait of any one I know?”
“Only one, I’m afraid, ma’am—a sketch of Captain Wylie,” with a deprecating glance at Madame Ladoguin.