“You mean to make him impossible for ever as a candidate!” cried Eirene. Then her indignation faded. “Well, it does not signify. After all, it is for his life. But wait,” her tone was full of animation once more. “It is possible that he will not be elected. Prince Romanos has many supporters. Don’t be afraid,” noticing the Princess’s expression; “Maurice shall offer himself as candidate, according to our compact, and I will do nothing and say nothing to prevent his succeeding. But if he fails, if Prince Romanos is elected, you can do what you like with him, so you have said. Therefore the paper will be of no further use to you. In that case will you give it me back?”
The Princess considered the matter. “Yes,” she said, “I think I can promise that.”
“Swear it!” cried Eirene eagerly. “You have an icon of great sanctity there, I see. Swear upon it.”
“You ask a great deal, madame.” The Princess shot an angry glance at this suppliant who was presuming to make terms with her, but she moved across to the icon and kissed it. “I swear that if Prince Christodoridi is elected, I will return the paper signed by your husband to ‘you,’” she said, with an emphasis on the pronoun which Eirene remembered afterwards. “But do not be afraid, the election will be properly managed, and our friend Apolis will have no chance.”
“I will give or send you the paper when it is certain that my husband’s life is safe,” said Eirene. “I see how it is to be done. You need not be afraid.”
She went out with a pale face and set lips, determined on betraying Maurice for his life’s sake, even arguing to herself that her action was justifiable, since it involved the loss of her own ambition. But on one point she had no illusions. Maurice would never forgive her for setting his life above his honour. She returned home, and before going into the sick-room chose out two sheets of black-edged paper and wrote two letters, arranging the sentences carefully, so that when glanced at cursorily, or seen upside-down, the wording appeared to be the same. Taking these in her hand, with several loose pieces of blotting-paper, she went into Maurice’s room.
“Hush!” came softly from Zoe, who was sitting close to the door. “He’s asleep.”
“No, I’m not,” said a weak voice from the bed. “Eirene, I think you might let Con in to-day. I feel as if I hadn’t seen him for years, and he will be quite good.”
“Oh, hush!” cried Eirene, in a voice that thrilled with pain. Then she recollected herself hurriedly. “No, Maurice, you are not strong enough yet. But I do want you to sign this letter if you feel fairly well. I want Merceda to sell out ten thousand pounds of Mr Teffany-Wise’s money, and pay it into our joint account.”
“What! not had enough adventures yet?” groaned Maurice.