"Believe me, dear madame, it is no trick. The men below are in
sober earnest. You have but to see their faces to know that
theirs is no wild adventure. I believe sincerely that they have
the power to implement their promise."

"But it is madness. He is old and worn and sick. His day is
long past for winning a crown."

"All this I have said, but it does not move them." And I told
her rapidly Mr. Galloway's argument. She fell into a muse. "At
the eleventh hour! Nay, too late, too late. Had he been twenty
years younger, what a stroke of fortune! Fate bears too hard on
us, too hard!"

Then she turned to me fiercely. "You have no doubt heard, sir,
the gossip about my father, which is on the lips of every fool in
Europe. Let us have done with this pitiful make-believe. My
father is a sot. Nay, I do not blame him. I blame his enemies
and his miserable destiny. But there is the fact. Were he not
old, he would still be unfit to grasp a crown and rule over a
turbulent people. He flees from one city to another, but he
cannot flee from himself. That is his illness on which you
condoled with me yesterday."

The lady's control was at breaking-point. Another moment and I
expected a torrent of tears. But they did not come. With a
great effort she regained her composure.

"Well, the gentlemen must have an answer. You will tell them
that the Count, my father--nay--give him his true title if you