Again she spoke of the examination of the safe by Dubard, but this matter he seemed disinclined to discuss, and pleading other affairs, he urged her to return home and await him at luncheon.
At three o’clock, after eating his midday meal with her, he went forth again to make a round of official calls, when, a quarter of an hour later, the Italian footman threw open the long white doors of the small salon where Mary was sitting writing letters, and announced—
“Comte Dubard!”
She started quickly, held her breath, and rose to greet her visitor, who, foppishly dressed in a pale grey flannel suit, came forward smiling, and, drawing his heels together, bowed low over her white hand. The man’s calm impertinence and cool unscrupulousness held her speechless.
“I thought you were still at San Donato,” she stammered, when at last she found tongue. “I had no idea you were here, in Rome.”
“I have followed you,” he declared, smiling. “You left the villa unknown to me, and therefore I have come to you.”
“For what reason?” she inquired, her brows slightly elevated.
“Because—well, because I fear that the reason of your sudden journey is to reveal to your father those things which I told you in confidence the other day. Remember the future rests entirely in your own hands. He must know nothing—at least at present.”
“And is that the only reason you are here, count?” she asked meaningly, standing before him with her hands behind her back, her splendid dark eyes fixed upon him.
“I come here as your friend to warn you that silence is best at this moment. A word to your father will precipitate the crisis. I know,” he went on, “that you are convinced that an injustice has been done in the case of poor Solaro. Your attitude the other evening showed me that. But I beg of you to make no effort to clear his character, because, in the first place, any such attempt must of necessity fail; and secondly, your father’s enemies would at once shriek of the insecurity of the French frontier. No,” he argued, speaking in a low tone in French, “you must keep your own counsel, mademoiselle. If this catastrophe is to be averted, if the Cabinet is to be saved, then it must be by some ingenious means that are not apparent to your father’s enemies.”