Presently, when father and daughter were some distance ahead, she turned to him and, looking into his countenance, said very seriously,—
“Much as I regret it, Mr Bourne, our very pleasant evenings here must end. This is our last walk together.”
“What! Madame!” he exclaimed. “Are you leaving?” and he halted in surprise.
“I hardly know yet,” she replied, just a trifle confused, for she hesitated to tell the cruel truth to this man who had once risked his life for hers. “It is not, however, because I am leaving, but our parting is imperative, because—well—for the sake of both of us.”
“I don’t quite follow your Majesty,” he said, looking inquiringly at her. They were quite alone, at a spot where there were no promenaders.
“No,” she sighed. “I expect not. I must be more plain, although it pains me to be so. The fact is that my enemies at Court have learnt that we are friends, and are now endeavouring to couple our names—you and I. Is it not scandalous—when you love Leucha?”
“What!” he cried, starting back amazed. “They are actually endeavouring to again besmirch your good name! Ah! I see! They say that I am your latest lover—eh? Tell me the truth,” he urged fiercely. “These liars say that you are in love with me! They don’t know who I am,” he laughed bitterly. “I, a thief—and you, a sovereign!”
“They are enemies, and will utter any lies to create scandal concerning me,” she said, with quiet resignation. “For that reason we must not be seen together. To you, Mr Bourne, I owe my life—a debt that I fear I shall never be able to sufficiently repay. Mr Redmayne and yourself have been very kind and generous to me, a friendless woman, and yet I am forced by circumstances to withdraw my friendship because of this latest plot conceived by the people who have so ingeniously plotted my ruin. As you know, they declared that Count Leitolf was my lover, but I swear before God that he was only my friend—my dear, devoted friend, just as I believe that you yourself are. And yet,” she sighed, “it is so very easy to cast scandal against a woman, be she a seamstress or of the blood royal.”
“I am certainly your devoted friend,” the man declared in a clear, earnest tone. “You are misjudged and ill-treated, therefore it is my duty as a man, who, I hope, still retains some of the chivalry of a gentleman, to stand your champion.”
“In this, you, alas! cannot—you would only compromise me,” she declared, shaking her head sadly.