“Why, Elena! This is a surprise. What has happened?” he asked eagerly.
The Admiral’s wife passed into the little sitting-room, and, without seating herself, revealed hastily what was intended, adding: “I must return home at once or Guilio may wonder where I am.”
“What a plot!” exclaimed the dark-haired traitor. “It does the greatest credit to your husband’s ingenuity.” Then, suddenly reflecting, he said in a strange, hard voice: “If I act successfully your husband himself may be charged with giving away secrets to the enemy. If so, because you love him, you might denounce me, Elena.” After a second’s pause, he added: “I trust no one. Not even you. My life is at stake in this affair. Therefore, you will swear that, whatever happens, and even if suspicion be cast upon your husband, you will never betray me?”
“Of course, Carlo. Am I not Austrian? I swear it.”
The spy took from a table a book covered with shiny black leather, and pressed it very firmly into her hand. It was a copy of the New Testament.
“Kiss it—and swear,” he said.
In obedience, she acted as he wished, repeating a solemn oath after him.
“I trust you, Elena,” he said fervently, at the same time gallantly kissing the back of the white, slim hand which had held the book.
“And I trust you, Carlo,” she whispered. “Trust in me. No suspicion must rest upon anybody. I leave that to your own clever ingenuity.”
A few moments later she descended the steep stone stairs to hurry home as quickly as she could. Arriving at the great palazzo, she at once resumed her smart dinner-gown, and, entering the salon half an hour afterwards, sat down to await her husband’s return.