“No. I have no great fear of him,” she answered. “But you have enemies here, in Rome,” she went on very seriously. “I have discovered that they are desperate and intend to do you some grievous harm. Therefore I urge you to make some excuse to leave Rome at once.”
“Why, whatever do you mean, Princess?” he asked, staring at her.
“How often have I forbidden you to use that title to me?” she cried petulantly. “To you I am Lola, plain Lola, as always,” she said, looking very gravely into his eyes. “We are friends. That is why I am here to warn you.”
“But I really don’t understand,” he protested. “What enemies can I have here? And if I have, what harm can they possibly do me? I’m not afraid, I assure you.”
“Ah! I know you are not afraid,” she answered. “But from what I have heard, it seems probable that these people, whoever they are, must be in fear of you—they suspect you are cognisant of some secret of theirs.”
The word “secret” held him speechless for some seconds. She knew nothing of the theft that had been committed at the Ministry of War. The only “secret” which he had tried to discover was the identity of the thief.
“But how came you to know this?” he asked at last.
“I—well I heard a rumour last night,” was her vague reply; “and I thought it my duty, as your friend, to warn you lest you should be entrapped or taken unawares.”
“Then you really and honestly believe that these mysterious, unknown persons, whoever they are, mean mischief?” he asked, looking anxiously into her pale, anxious countenance.
How handsome she was! How deeply, too, was he in love with her. He held his breath, remembering how frantically he had kissed her hand; how he had told her of the great burning passion within his heart, though she had lain there with all consciousness blotted out.