“Nonsense, girl! Tell the truth.”
“I am telling it, lord. Did I not bring you the little lord, to comfort you, when you were mourning over the body of the Lady, and did you not command me many times over to take him away?”
“I told you to take him to the nursery, of course.”
“Yes, lord; and was he to remain there forgotten, until the murderers came back to kill him as they had killed his mother?” There was another sensation.
“Who were these murderers, Kalliopé?” asked Maurice.
She looked round desperately. All her instincts of loyalty bade her lie through thick and thin, if necessary, to support her brother, but she had no means of knowing whether truth or falsehood would profit him better. “If I could tell my lord about it alone first?” she faltered.
“No, no—no teaching the girl what to say!” cried the Cavaliere Pazzi furiously, and Professor Panagiotis turned a warning glance on Prince Romanos. He responded gloomily.
“No. Say what you know at once.”
“It was a very hot day,” began Danaë hesitatingly. “My lord had visited the Lady to bid her farewell, and old Despina had gone out marketing. The Lady was writing a letter in the shade of the wood, and I was playing with the little lord on the ground near her. We were just going to take him indoors for his sleep when we heard noises at the gate. Old Mariora came running to bid the Lady hide, because there were murderers there, and went to try to stop them. But the Lady bade me take the little lord and hide him, and she would speak to the murderers and give me time. Then I carried the little lord very quickly through the house and hid myself with him, and remained there a long while, and when I came out the Lady lay dead on the grass, and Mariora on the pathway, and Despina near the gate.” She paused with something of pride. If she had said nothing that was false, she had at any rate exercised a judicious economy of the truth.
“Where did you hide yourself, Kalliopé?” asked Zoe.