The conversation was getting dangerous. Mrs Hargrave must be checked in her impulsive moods, which, he honestly admitted, were very rare.
“Ah, if I could see dear old Contraras in that position I would die happy,” he exclaimed, with a splendid mendacity.
Mrs Hargrave stole a quiet glance at him.
“Yes, he is very wonderful, is he not? But I can’t honestly say I like his womenkind. They have no sympathy with his aspirations.”
As they were speaking, a very gorgeous carriage rolled up. It contained the Duchess del Pineda and Valerie Delmonte. The Duke had not accompanied them. He had pleaded indisposition, but probably prudence had dictated his absence. Anyway, if certain things happened, it would be possible for him to plead a successful alibi.
“Look, look!” cried Violet Hargrave, a little excitedly for her. “Valerie Delmonte!”
Moreno, the kindly-hearted, felt a spasm of pity as he gazed on the face of the handsome, fanatical young Frenchwoman, whom that wily old Contraras had subjugated to his evil will.
“Poor child!” he said aloud, for the benefit of his companion, “I can only hope she will not lose her nerve. It was a man’s job, but she would insist upon having it.”
There was a little lull in the procession of carriages. And then there drove up one conveying Guy Rossett and a colleague. The Ambassador had already arrived, with his wife.
Moreno stole a glance at his companion. She was heavily veiled, but he could see that her face had grown pale, that a sad look had come into her eyes.