There was a carriage full of servants behind Fleta’s carriage; when hers stopped so suddenly they all got out and came quickly to the doors.
“The Duchess has fainted,” said Fleta, rising so as to hide Hilary; “the journey has been too long. Is there a house near where she can lie still a little while, and come on later to the palace?”
Immediately offers of help were made, and the servants and those who were glad to help them carried the poor little Duchess away.
“On to the palace!” cried Fleta, and shut the door and drew down the blinds. The postilion started the horses with all speed.
Suddenly the blood in Hilary’s body began to surge and burn. Was it Fleta’s arms that clung round him? Fleta’s lips that printed warm, living kisses on his neck, his face, his hair? He turned and faced her.
“Tell me the truth,” he said. “Are you a devil?”
“No,” she answered, “I am not. I want to find my way to the pure good that governs life. But there are devils about me, and you have killed one of them to-night. Hush, calm yourself; remember what we are in the eyes of the world. For we are at the palace door, and Otto is standing there to receive us.”
She stepped out, the young queen.
Hilary followed her, stumbling, broken. He said he was ill, to those who spoke to him; and stood staring in wonder at the brilliant sight before him.