“But how can we prove it—how can we prove it?” the King said.
The Englishman shrugged his shoulders. He recollected that sum which had come to the Minister from a mysterious source a few days after the theft. But of that he made no mention to the King. It was, after all, no proof. Only a suspicion.
Therefore, after yet another half an hour, he made his adieu, bowed as he backed out of the room, and then walked home full of gravest reflections.
That same evening he had promised to see off at the station by the Milan express two English ladies who had been guests of Lady Cathcart at the Embassy, and this he did, driving in the car with them, for the Ambassador himself had to be present at an official dinner given by the Minister of Foreign Affairs.
He had bidden the two ladies farewell and the train had moved out of the station upon its long, northward journey when, just as he was about to enter the Ambassador’s car, standing in the piazza, he caught sight of a familiar face—that of Henri Pujalet.
“Hallo?” he cried. “Why—you in Rome?”
“Yes. I arrived only this afternoon,” responded Her Highness’s lover, halting and putting out his hand. He was well-dressed, though there seemed to have been some slight attempt to disguise his features. “Mademoiselle does not know I am here,” he added, “so if you see her, please do not mention this meeting. I shall not see her until the day after to-morrow—when we have an appointment to meet.”
“Very well,” laughed Waldron, though, truth to tell, he was consumed by jealousy. Then in reply to a question he told Waldron that he was staying at the Hôtel de Russie, out by the Porta del Popolo, to which place Hubert gave him a lift, afterwards bidding him good evening and driving back to the Embassy.
What further indiscretion, he wondered, was Lola about to commit.
His heart was bursting with unspoken love. Night after night he lay and thought of her in wonder. Though she was in ignorance of it, she was his all-in-all. Since he had been in Rome he had danced attendance upon many women, as it was his duty as diplomat to do; he had laughed and flirted, and danced and gossiped, and kissed many a woman’s hand, but in his heart he held them all in supreme indifference. His eyes and heart were only gladdened when Her Royal Highness, the scandalously skittish and unconventional, chanced to be present. This was fortunately often the case, and frequently he found himself in cosy corners or in conservatories with her as she whispered merrily behind her fan.