The Rising Storm

Actually, although it did not appear so to him at the time, his lavish offers of largesse for increased speed did have considerable effect, as the coach covered the 400 miles in twelve days, instead of the three weeks that he was assured it would normally have taken. On Friday the 9th of April he arrived in Madrid, itching all over, half-famished from lack of decent food, and cursing Spain for the lousiest country that he had ever had the ill-fortune to enter.

To add to his fury he found the British Embassy shut up; but, to his relief, it soon transpired that Mr. Anthony Merry was living in a smaller house near by. The Consul turned out to be a youngish man of not very enterprising disposition. Madrid was his first post and he had not been there many months when the Ambassador had been recalled, leaving him as Charge d'Affaires; and it was soon clear to Roger that he did not care for the responsibility, particularly now that serious trouble was brewing with the Spaniards. It was perhaps this, added to a natural politeness, which accounted for the particular warmth of the welcome he extended to Mr. Pitt's personal representative.

He said a little plaintively that it was all very well for Whitehall to complain about delays; they did not realize there how hopeless it was for anyone of his junior rank to compel the attention of a Spanish Hidalgo like Count Florida Blanca, but perhaps the Prime Minister would be more impressed by a special envoy, even if Roger did not carry the powers of a Minister Plenipotentiary.

Roger had a good mind to tell him that rank had nothing to do with the matter, and that he ought to be ashamed of himself. For ten months he had been the sole representative of His Britannic Majesty at the Court of Madrid, and that was status enough for any man to demand an audience of the King of Spain himself, if need be. But Mr. Merry's lack of initiative was not his affair, and, even tired and irritable as he was, he was much too tactful to give gratuitous offence to a man upon whom he would have to depend for all sorts of trivial services. So he gratefully accepted Mr. Merry's offer of a bath, put on clean linen and rejoined him for dinner.

Mr. Merry was naturally anxious to hear all the news from home and would have liked to spend the evening enjoying an account of the latest gossip in London, but Roger had no mind to let the grass grow under his feet. While the servants remained in the room he did his best to satisfy the craving of his host, but directly they had gone, he said:

"I expect to be here only a few days, so I have no time to waste, and I would be greatly obliged if you would tell me all you can of the Court of Madrid."

Mr. Merry laughed. "I think, sir, you would be well advised to count your days as weeks while you are in this country; for it is the immemorial custom here."

"That we shall see, sir," replied Roger with a hard note in his voice. "In any case, I should be glad if you would accede to my request."

His host shrugged. "Let us start then with King Carlos. He is a typical Bourbon, both physically and mentally. His muscular strength is quite exceptional, he is entirely devoted to sport and enjoys only the simplest amusements. He is religious, good-tempered, believes im­plicitly in the Divine Right of Kings, and is one of the stupidest men you could meet in a long day's march. It is Queen Maria Luisa who wears the breeches. You must have heard the classic story of her as a little girl?"

As Roger shook his head Mr. Merry went on: "She was a daughter of Parma, and married at the age of twelve. The very day she heard that her marriage contract with the Prince of the Asturias had been signed, she became so puffed up that she said to her brother, Ferdinand: 'You must learn to treat me with more respect, because I'm going to be the Queen of Spain, while you'll never be anything but the little Duke of Parma.' To which he replied: 'If that's the case, the little Duke of Parma will now have the honour of boxing the Queen of Spain's ears.' And he did."

Roger laughed. " 'Tis a delightful anecdote. Does she still ride so high a horse?"

"Yes. For all the years her husband was heir-apparent she kept him under her thumb; and on his succeeding to the throne in '88 it was she, not he, who called the first Council of Ministers in the new reign. She is a ghoul to look at, with small, pig-like black eyes, no teeth of her own but false ones that fit badly, and a greenish, withered skin. Yet from her teens she has never ceased to command lovers to her bed, and woe betide any handsome fellow of the Bodyguard who has the courage to refuse her.''

"Has she any special favourite at the moment?"

"There is a young man of about twenty-three, named Manuel Godoy, who bids fair to become a permanency. He was a Lieutenant in the Flemish Guard at the time Maria Luisa first singled him out for her favours. She was then still Princess of the Asturias, and from fear of her father-in-law kept her liaisons as quiet as possible, but since his death she has made no secret of them, and has showered honours on this handsome paramour of hers. Since he has stayed the pace for nearly three years now, it seems likely that he has acquired a certain influence over her other than by merely satisfying her passions."

"Think you, sir, that it might repay us to court this Senor Godoy, and promise him some substantial reward if he is willing to use his influence with the Queen in our favour?"

Mr. Merry shook his head. "No, sir. I fear you would find such a course a waste of time. 'Tis not that Godoy would refuscyour presents. It is said that he was so poor when he first became the Queen's lover that he had to spend every other day in bed in order to have his only shirt washed; so he is now seeking by every possible means to amass a fortune while his star is in the ascendant. But I greatly doubt if he has the power to be of the least service to you in any political matter. It is believed that on King Carlos IV coming to the throne the Queen made a secret pact with Count Florida Blanca, by which he was to be left in control of all affairs of State while she should be allowed a free hand in the disposal of offices and honours. So 'tis to the Prime Minister that I advise you to address yourself."

"He has held sway at this Court for many years, has he not?" Roger asked.

"For the best part of thirteen, sir. He came to power as the result of the resignation of Grimaldo and General O'Reilly, following the disastrous joint attack by Spanish and Tuscan forces on the Moors of Algiers. His only serious rival for power has been the famous General Conde d'Aranda, who was King Carlos Ill's first great Minister. He lost his place in '73, owing to the humiliation Spain suffered at our hands in her abortive attempt to deprive Britain of the Falkland Islands. He was sent as Ambassador to Paris and remained there fifteen years;

but his personal prestige continued to be so great, and he is such a forceful personality, that a slip on Florida Blanca's part at any time might well have led to d'Aranda being recalled to replace him as Prime Minister. Even now, although d'Aranda has been living in retirement for the past few years, his recall is not beyond the bounds of possibility."

Roger asked if Mr. Merry knew the Sidonia y Ulloas, but he did not, and had heard the name only as that of one of the great Spanish families. For a further hour they talked on while Roger absorbed as much information as he could about the Spanish Court; then, just as they were about to go to bed, he said:

"Since Count Florida Blanca is his own Foreign Minister we shall be spared the formality of first submitting our business through a third party. I should be glad therefore, sir, if you would make the necessary arrangements to present me to him tomorrow."

Mr. Merry smiled. "You will be fortunate, sir, if you succeed in obtaining an audience with the Prime Minister under two weeks. The best I can do is to take you out to Aranjuez, where the Court is now in residence, and make you known to one of his secretaries."

"How far is Aranjuez?" Roger enquired.

"It lies about thirty miles to the south of the capital. 'Tis the Versailles of Spain and the Court spends a good part of each year there. For convenience the Embassy owns a villa in the neighbourhood. If you wish I will have it opened up, and you can stay there."

"I would be obliged, sir, if you will. And thirty miles being a long day's journey in Spain, I trust it will be convenient to you to make an early start, in order that we may not arrive too late for me to make my first contact with the Court tomorrow evening."

"As you will, sir." Mr. Merry bowed. "But unlike the sandy tracks over which you have been struggling in your journey across Estramadura and Castile, the road between the capital and the King's country home is a fine one; so if we leave at eight we should be there early in the afternoon."

Although it was only April, when Roger arrived in Madrid he had found it sizzling with a heat that is rarely experienced in England except during the height of summer, yet on the following morning it was near freezing. As he stood shivering in his cloak, Mr. Merry told him that these extremes of temperature occurred daily and were due to Madrid being over 2,000 feet above sea level; then as they drove through the city he pointed out such few buildings as were of interest. Roger knew that it was far from old, as capitals go, and he found little to admire in it, apart from one broad modern boulevard called the Prado—which had been constructed by the Conde d'Aranda—and the situation of the city, with the snow-capped peaks of the Sierra de Guadarrama outlined against a blue sky in the distance to the northward.

Aranjuez had been selected as the site of a royal residence from its very pleasant surroundings, as it lies in the middle of a fertile plain where the river Jarama joins the upper Tagus, and the country round about forms the principle market-garden for Madrid. The little town was the most modern in Spain, as it had been built to a definite plan only forty years earlier, and the Palace was a large late-Renaissance building erected twenty-five years before the town.

As they arrived before three o'clock they found the whole place deserted, for the midday siesta was not yet over; but by the time the servants they had brought with them had opened up the villa, the same types of cloaked, sombrero-hatted men, and gaily shawled, mantillaed women as Roger had seen in Madrid, began to appear in the streets.

All through his long journey across Portugal and Spain he had been harassed by a double anxiety about Isabella. She had been due to have her baby in the latter part of March, and it was now April 10th. Yet he still did not know if all had gone well with her, and she had come safely through the ordeal. Then, if she had, there was still the awful thought that during the past fortnight her husband might have poisoned her. In consequence, now that he was at last within an ace of obtaining news that would either still or confirm his fears, he could hardly contain his impatience to get to the Palace.

Mr. Merry had declared that five o'clock was the earliest hour at which a noble Spaniard could possibly be expected to do business, so at a few minutes to the hour their carriage carried them down a fine avenue and through the formal gardens with which the Palace was surrounded to the wing of it which was occupied by the Prime Minister.

In due course they were received by one of the gentlemen who assisted Count Florida Blanca in the transaction of foreign business: the Caballero Heredia. It transpired that the Caballero had served for some time in the Spanish Embassy in Paris, so he spoke fluent French. He made Roger gravely welcome, examined his credentials and assured him blandly that the Prime Minister would be most happy to grant him an audience at an early date. He added that he hoped that in the meantime Roger would avail himself of the amenities of the Palace, and that the next day being Sunday there was a Court, at which no doubt he could arrange to be presented.

Having thanked him, Roger said: "It is my misfortune, Senor Caballero, to have few Spanish friends, but while in Naples I made the acquaintance of a charming couple, the Conde and Condesa Sidonia y Ulloa; and they are, I think, now in Spain. I wonder if you can tell me anything of them?"

"Why, yes," replied the Caballero, with a smile. "I knew the Condesa when she lived at the Court of France, before her marriage; and I am happy to be able to give you good news of her. She presented her husband with an heir some three weeks back, and they arrived here to pay their court to Their Majesties only two days ago. No doubt you will see your friends tomorrow night."

Enormously relieved, Roger said how pleased he would be to see them again; then, after some further polite conversation with the Caballero Heredia, the two Englishmen withdrew.

Relieved as Roger was he found the next twenty-four hours drag interminably. For a while he occupied himself with an evening walk round Aranjuez with Mr. Merry, but there was nothing to see there except the people. There were few women in the streets; they sat in the deep embrasures of open ground-floor windows which were raised some feet above the street level. Every window was heavily barred; in the better houses with an elaborate iron scrollwork that bellied outward in a graceful curve. The men lounged in the street outside. The smarter of them were most colourfully clad, with bright sashes round their waists and scarves round their necks, tight trousers, short jackets and little black hats with pom-poms, beneath which their dark hair was caught up in a net. Many of them carried guitars, and strummed upon them as they softly serenaded their favourite senoritas.

As the season of the Sunday bull-fights did not begin till May, Roger whiled away most of the day as best he could, thinking over what he would say to Count Florida Blanca when he obtained an audience. The mission he had been given was, he felt, his great chance; but it was no easy one, for if the Spaniards attempted to procrastinate, as they almost certainly would, he had strict instructions to stand no nonsense from them. So peace or war hung by a thread, and his triumph would be all the greater if he could maintain the high tone required by Mr. Pitt and yet prevent war breaking out.

At last it was time to go to the Palace; and at six o'clock he was ushered with Mr. Merry into a vast reception-room on its first floor. There were already some hundred ladies and gentlemen present and Roger knew that the same formality would be gone through as he had witnessed at Versailles. When the whole Court was assembled the approach of Their Majesties would be announced, the company would form into a human lane, and the Sovereigns would slowly pass down it. In this case, however, Mr. Merry having been to see the Grand Chamberlain earlier in the day, that functionary would attract the Monarchs' attention to them, and he would be given the opportunity to present his new colleague.

But Roger had no thought for his coming presentation; he was swiftly scanning the crowd for Isabella. After a moment he caught sight of Don Diego, and then of Isabella beside him. With a murmured apology to Mr. Merry, he quickly made his way towards the couple.

At sight of him Isabella's tanned face paled, but she covered her confusion by dropping him a low curtsy in response to his bow. Don Diego also recognized him at once and greeted him very civilly. Roger said that he had heard of their happy event and was delighted to congratulate them upon it; then they began to talk of their mutual friends in Naples.

After a few moments another gentleman claimed Don Diego's attention, so Roger was able to move a little apart with Isabella. "My love," she breathed. "My love, I can hardly believe it true that it is really you I see."

"Or I, that I am with you again, my own," he whispered, as he took in all the detail of the thin, fine, dark-browed face that had caused him such an agony of love those last days in Naples.

They were standing opposite the main doorway and some distance from it. People were still arriving and at that moment a couple entered. The man was in his sixties, of medium height, and with a thinnish, clever face. The woman was in her early twenties. She had dark hair, black eyes, a faultless complexion, a determined chin and a full, red mouth. Her figure was well rounded for her height and in perfect proportion; her beauty was so dazzling that she eclipsed every other woman in the room.

Isabella touched Roger on the arm, and her whisper came almost in a hiss. "Look! That is the English woman to marry whom my husband plans to poison me!"

Roger's only reply was a gasp. The superbly beautiful creature, round whom a court of bowing men had instantly gathered, was the woman he counted dearer than any other in the world—Georgina Etheredge.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

INTRIGUE AT ARANJUEZ

ISABELLA half-turned to whisper again behind her fan to Roger; but, seeing the expression of astonishment on his face as he stared at Georgina, she exclaimed: "Why do you look so surprised? Is it that you know her?"

"Why, yes," Roger answered in a low voice. "She is my dearest— my oldest friend."

"Madonna mia!" Isabella passed the tip of her tongue over her suddenly dry hps. "Rojé! You cannot mean that you, too, have been ensnared by her? Yet from the way you speak . . ."

"No, no! I mean only that we have known one another since childhood. I—I regard her as a sister."

Isabella's dark brows drew together. "A sister! Only as a sister? Do you swear to me she has never been more to you than that?"

"Hush!" whispered Roger. "I beg you to control yourself. We are observed. But I can assure you of one thing. You are entirely mistaken in your estimate of her character. She is the kindest and sweetest creature; she would harm no one willingly."

‘Yet she would have me poisoned, so that she may marry one of the greatest fortunes and titles in Spain."

Roger turned and looked straight into Isabella's eyes. His voice was suddenly hard. "Have you one scrap of evidence that Lady Etheredge has knowledge of this fell design of which you accuse your husband?"

"No," Isabella faltered. "No. Yet 'tis rumoured here that she killed her own husband some two years ago and narrowly escaped hanging for it."

" 'Tis true that she killed him; but by accident. I was a party to the matter and know every detail of it. Her innocence was vindicated at the trial." His voice took on a more gentle note. "I see now how it is that you have been led to think such ill of her; but I swear to you that you do her an injustice. I beg you, too, .to believe that my love is entirely yours, and that now I am here I would die rather than let harm befall you."

Georgina had just caught sight of Roger. Excusing herself from the gentlemen who surrounded her, she waved her fan in delighted recogni­tion, then took her father's arm, and they came through the crowd towards him. When the two women had exchanged curtsys Roger kissed Georgina's hand and shook that of Colonel Thursby heartily.

They exclaimed with surprise at seeing him in Spain, and he explained his presence by saying that he had been asked to negotiate some questions regarding shipping with the Spanish Government. He then learnt how they came to be at the Court of Madrid. They had meant to spend two months in Naples, but they had met the Sidonia y Ulloas there and Don Diego had persuaded them to be his guests in Spain for a few weeks before returning to England.

Don Diego had by that time rejoined the group. He clearly found it difficult to conceal his displeasure at finding Georgina talking in English with such animation to Roger, evidently fearing in him a possible rival. His dark eyes never left her face, and Isabella had fallen ominously silent; but Georgina did not appear to notice the electric atmosphere, and with her usual gaiety she rattled on until an usher called for silence.

Mr. Merry appeared at Roger's side as the Court formed up to do homage to the Sovereigns, and a few minutes later King Carlos and

Queen Maria Luisa entered the lofty chamber. In due course the Grand Chamberlain drew Their Majesties' attention to the two Englishman, and when they had made their bow the King said to Roger, in French:

" You are welcome to my Court, Monsieur Brook. Have you ever been to Spain before ?"

"No, Your Majesty," Roger replied. "I have travelled considerably in numerous other countries, but this is the first time I have had the pleasure of visiting your dominions."

"In which countries have you travelled, Monsieur?"

"Mostly in France, Sire. I have visited Holland, Denmark, Sweden, Russia and Italy; but during the past year I have spent more time in Paris than elsewhere."

Queen Maria Luisa was regarding Roger intently with her small black eyes. She was, he thought, of an incredible ugliness. Her mouth was huge and her false teeth rattled in it as she addressed him:

"Were you, Monsieur, a witness to the deplorable events which have shaken the foundations of the French throne?"

He bowed. "I was at Versailles, Your Majesty, both on the night of the taking of the Bastille and of the mob's attack upon the Palace. Madame Marie Antoinette has for many months been gracious enough to number me among her gentlemen, so I was in consequence privy to all that passed at Court on those terrible occasions."

The Queen turned to a fine strapping fellow in a splendid uniform who, with other members of the royal suite, was standing just behind her. "We should be interested to hear at first hand an account of these monstrous proceedings by the French people. Be pleased to bring Monsieur Brook to us tomorrow evening."

Roger bowed again; then, just as the Queen was moving on, her eye fell upon Isabella. "Condesa," she added kindly. "You were in the service of Madame Marie Antoinette for some years, were you not? No doubt you too would be interested to hear news of your old mistress. You and your husband may wait upon us tomorrow night with Monsieur Brook."

The reception lasted for about half an hour and during it Roger had no opportunity to speak further with Isabella in private, or with Georgina; but he managed to get a word with Colonel Thursby, just as the King and Queen were withdrawing.

"Sir," he said, in a low voice. "I find that the business I am come to Spain upon intimately concerns Georgina, and must see her alone at the earliest possible moment. I pray you help me in this matter if you can."

"There is nothing to prevent you calling upon me at any hour of the day or night," replied the Colonel with his quiet smile. "We are staying with the Sidonia y Ulloas; but as the Condesa was confined in the country, and arrived in Aranjuez only three days ago, it would not have been fitting for Don Diego to receive Georgina into his house in the absence of his wife; so he accommodated us very pleasantly in a pavilion in his garden. 'Tis on the left-hand side of the entrance drive, so you cannot fail to find it. If your business is urgent you had best come there an hour or so after this party breaks up; but I do not advise your doing so earlier. You may, perhaps, have observed that our host is strongly attracted to Georgina, and it might be unfortunate if he got the impression that you were paying her a midnight visit."

Roger had hardly thanked him when the fine young man in the splendid uniform emerged from the crowd. As Roger had guessed, he proved to be Manuel Godoy, the Queen's favourite. Having introduced himself he asked Roger where he was staying, then requested him to wait upon him in his apartments at the Palace at seven o'clock the following evening.

In addition to an elegant figure and handsome face, Godoy had an unusually attractive voice, although he spoke French with a heavy accent. He also had great charm of manner and an enthusiastic spon­taneity in his conversation rarely found in Spaniards; so Roger took an immediate liking to him.

A band of violins was now playing indifferent music in one adjoining salon and a refreshment buffet was spread in another; so the guests had broken up into little groups and for about an hour continued to exchange politenesses and gossip. Don Diego stuck to Georgina like a leech, but Isabella was never alone for a moment, so Roger had to content himself with joining in the general conversation of the group from which she could not succeed in freeing herself.

About nine o'clock the guests began to leave, and shortly afterwards Isabella, Georgina, Don Diego and Colonel Thursby all went off together. Roger had asked formal permission to call upon them and received the civil reply that they hoped to see a lot of him while he was in Aranjuez, so he had been able to take the opportunity of finding out the situation of the Sidonia y Ulloa mansion. Then he, too, left with Mr. Merry and they drove back to the Embassy villa.

On their arrival Roger announced that, the night being fine, he intended to go for a walk. Mr. Merry, anxious to oblige in every way, offered to go with him, but he excused himself from accepting the offer on the plea that he had certain problems to think out; then he set off back in the direction of the Palace. His latter statement had at least been true, as he was still trying to adjust his mind to the extra­ordinary situation with which he had been confronted that evening; but he had some time to kill before he could make his visit to Georgina, so, checking the impulse of his long legs to set off at a stride in pace with his mind, he forced himself to saunter.

There were several things he could not understand. How could his dear, gay Georgina possibly be in love with that dull, conceited stick of a Spaniard ? Even if she were, as it was impossible for her to marry him, why, seeing that the wicked darling had indulged herself with a succession of lovers ever since she was sixteen, did she refuse her favours to Don Diego? And why, even were he free to marry her, since she was already rich and titled, should she consider for one moment giving up the carefree life she led in places like London and Vienna to settle in dull, etiquette-ridden Spain ?

But of two things Roger was positive: Georgina could not con­ceivably be concerned in any plot to murder Isabella, and would give him all the help she possibly could to elope with her. He then began to wonder if there was any real foundation for the plot at all. Had Don Diego's English siren proved to be the hard, fortune-hunting adventuress he had expected, his belief in the plot would not have been shaken, but Georgina being the lady in question made it far less probable; and he now recalled that the only evidence for its existence lay in the word of little Quetzal.

That led to another thought. Would Isabella insist on taking Maria and Quetzal with her? If so it was going to prove next to impossible to bring off a successful elopement. On leaving London Roger's plans for running away with Isabella had been of the vaguest, but he had had reasonable confidence in his ability to arrange matters on the lines such affairs usually took in England and France. In either, or most other countries, there would have been nothing to prevent their getting away in a coach with well-paid servants and relays of fast horses arranged for in advance. But he had counted without the special difficulties which confronted travellers in Spain.

The coaches were drawn by mules and the state of the roads was so appalling that it was impossible to travel anywhere with a woman and baggage at any speed. Moreover Madrid was in the very centre of the country, four hundred miles from the nearest port. So if they went by coach and Don Diego decided to pursue them they would have little hope of reaching the coast without being overtaken. On his journey to Madrid Roger had had ample opportunity to revise his ideas, and decided that he must persuade Isabella to come with him on horseback; but he had overlooked the fact that a boy of Quetzal's age would never be able to stay the pace required to keep a lead on such a long journey.

He was still wrestling unsuccessfully with this problem when he decided that the time had come at which he might make his call; and having already located the long tree-lined avenue where he had been told that the Sidonia y Ulloa mansion lay, he turned down it. When he came to two tall pillars with stone eagles mounted on them, which had been described to him, he found that the iron gates which supported were on the latch. There was no lodge; bushes and cactus fringed the drive, and obliquely through them he could see lights, showing that the house lay some distance away. Slipping inside he walked cautiously along the drive until, on the left, about a hundred yards from the entrance, the bushes gave way to a group of palms, in the centre of which stood the pavilion.

It was a small, single-storied Moorish building with a miniature tiled court and fountain to one side of it, and in the faint moonlight it looked just the sort of romantic setting to appeal to the impressionable Georgina. Stepping up to the low door Roger knocked, and it was opened almost instantly by his old friend Tom, Colonel Thursby's valet, who said he had been warned to expect him. After they had greeted one another warmly Tom showed him into a pleasant room with windows of arabesque lattice-work that looked out on the fountain court. There was no European furniture in it, only chests, stools, vases and brasses of Eastern design; and Georgina, now clad in a becoming neglige1, was reclining gracefully against a pile of cushions on a low divan.

"Roger, how truly marvellous this is!" she exclaimed, as he hurried smiling towards her. Then, as he made to kiss her hand she flung a bare arm round his neck and, pulling his head down, kissed him on both cheeks.

Releasing him after a moment, she hurried on: " 'Tis now over a year since we met, and I declare you are grown more monstrous handsome than ever. For two pins I would throw away my Spanish Count for you, and seduce you anew, even if in the meantime you have gotten yourself a wife. But you must tell me all - everythmg.''

Sitting down beside her, he shook his head "Nay. I am not married yet. Whether it will be even possible for me ever to be so to the lady of my choice seems doubtful. But we are fully committed to one another, and 'tis about the matter that I have come here tonight to see you."

Georgina pulled a rueful face. "Fie, sir! And shame upon you! When Papa told me of your projected visit he winked an eye and said he knew us far too well to think that in any attempt to play gooseberry he could outsit you. Do you tell me now that the poor man has sought his bed thus early for no good reason?"

Knowing she was not speaking seriously, Roger grinned at her. "Could I but die tomorrow I would glory in my last act having been to make love to you; for you have grown to a beauty that positively takes the breath away. But since I cannot, and have now developed a conscience in such matters, I beg you spare me the terrible temptation that your words suggest."

"So you have developed a conscience?" She gave him a mocking smile. "Poor fellow! But you'll recover from it, I have no doubt. To be honest, though, I understand that better than I would have done a year ago; for I, too, have one now. Or shall we say that for a time it pleases me to be chaste? In Vienna, in Budapest, on the Rhine! Ah me! Even my zest for that type of entertainment became a trifle jaded; so for this winter at least I decided to become a prude. I am discovering a new pleasure in turning over in my bed in the morning and not having to argue with myself whom I will or will not allow to tumble me in it during the coming night. But perhaps that is a sign that I am growing old."

Roger threw his head back and laughed aloud again. "Old! Why, you are not yet twenty-four, and with a face and figure unrivalled since Helen of Troy. What you really mean, my sweet, is that you are growing up. But seriously; it must be this new phase upon which you have entered that accounts for your steadfastly refusing your favours to Don Diego."

She frowned. " 'Tis true enough. But how comes it, sir, that you should be so well versed in my most intimate affairs?"

"Ah! I have my spies. Yet I am come here to beg you tell me if you have any interest in this Spanish Grandee, other than to amuse yourself by leading him on a string?"

Georgina's face took on a thoughtful look, then she sighed: "From you, my dearest Roger, I would never seek to conceal the truth. I am mightily smitten with him. He is a very serious person, and though there must be many such, no other of the type has ever held my interest long enough for me to get to know him well. But I will admit that 'tis unlikely I would ever have come to do so had I not first been attracted by his physical attributes. I could gaze upon that profile of his for hours. 'Tis a more lovely, perfect thing than any cameo ever carved by an ancient master."

"Do you mean," Roger asked a shade uneasily, "that if he were free to offer you his hand you would accept it ?"

"I might. I have a great respect for him; and that at least would be a pleasant change from the contempt with which I was forced to regard poor Humphrey. The castle to which Papa and I accompanied him for a few days for the birth of the Condesa's child, and the celebrations in honour of its arrival, is quite impossible. 'Tis cold as an ice-box and draughty as a barn; but 'twould be amusing to make it habitable as a new background for myself. I doubt, though, if we should visit it more than once every few years, as I would never give up Stillwaters; and whoever I married would first have to agree to allowing me to live where I would as the spirit moved me."

Roger quickly looked away from her, as he said: "Do you sometimes share these daydreams with the Count?"

"Sometimes," she murmured; then she laughed. " 'Tis a most efficient panacea to divert him from becoming troublesome whenever he is more pressing than usual that I should let him lie with me."

"Have you no thought at all for his unfortunate wife?"

Georgina's big eyes opened to their maximum extent. "His wife! And why, pray, should I have? My faults are many, but at least you should know that I would never be guilty of breaking up a romantic marriage. This was as frigid an example as ever you will meet of an alliance between two great houses. The pulses of neither of them have quickened by a beat since the day they first set eyes on one another."

"I am aware of that. Yet your encouragement of Don Diego may have terrible results for her."

"Nonsense, my dear! Do you think that she still has idealistic yearnings for him, and that I have come between her and their realiza­tion ? If you do, pray disabuse yourself of the notion. Quiet she may be; and sanctimonious, with her long thin face. But, all the same, the sly little cat has consoled herself with at least one lover."

Roger swiftly suppressed the impulse categorically to-deny this imputation against Isabella; but, controlling his voice as well as he could, he said: "What reason have you for assuming that?"

"My poor Don Diego does not know it," Georgina burbled, with sudden merriment in her eyes, "but this winter he was still the laughing­stock of Naples. It seems that in the autumn an English visitor there became enamoured of the Condesa's charms, and at that time Diego had cast his eye upon a notorious gambler's moll, named Sara Goudar; but she demanded an excessive price. The rich English milor paid up for Diego to enjoy the harlot, so that he might have a clear field to enjoy Diego's wife."

Roger's eyes met Georgina's with no less wicked mirth, as he murmured: "So the pretty Sara told the story to her gossips afterwards, eh! Well, I can show you the reverse of that medal. I was in Naples last November. The story is true enough in essence, though I won Madame Goudar to the project without paying her anything for her trouble; but I was the Englishman concerned."

All the laughter left Georgina's face. "Roger!" she exclaimed. "You do not mean . . . you cannot mean that you are in love with the Condesa! 'Tis impossible to believe that morose, black-browed sack of bones to be the Spanish beauty of whom you wrote to me last summer. I pray you assure me swiftly that it is not of her that you have come to speak to me tonight."

"It is of her; and I .consider your description of her most ungener­ous," Roger said stiffly. "If we are to criticize one another's taste I will frankly express my amazement that you should have set your heart upon a wooden-headed barber's block. Aye, and far worse, a potential murderer."

"Roger! What are you saying? I was indeed at fault in disparaging your lady's looks; but you must be out of your senses to make such an accusation against an honourable gentleman."

Fishing the letter from Isabella, that had reached him in London, out of his inner pocket, Roger handed it to Georgina. "I pray you read that. 'Tis the prime reason for my coming to Spain."

Georgina read the letter through carefully, then she said: "From this I gather that you asked her to run away with you when you were in Naples, and she refused to do so because she was carrying Diego's child. That does her credit; but 'tis my opinion that she repented of it afterwards and ..."

"Go on," he prompted.

"You will not take offence at what I am about to say?"

"Nay. You know well that no honest opinion of yours could ever offend me seriously."

"Then 'tis my belief that, having repented her decision, she feared that after four months your ardour might have cooled; so invented this preposterous story of the poison, as a certain means of bringing you back to her side through its appeal to your chivalry."

He nodded. "You may be right; or it may be that young Quetzal misunderstood something said to him by his friend the witch. It may even be that the boy is lying, for I know that he greatly dislikes Don Diego; but I doubt that from all I know of him. I admit that discovering you to be the Englishwoman referred to instantly shook my own belief. But tell me this. Have you at any time given Don Diego reason to suppose that you would marry him if he were free?"

"Never. Though 'tis possible that he may have put a wrong con­struction on remarks that I have made as to thoughts about my own future. You know of old how ambitious I have always been; and how I vowed as a girl that I'd be a Duchess before my hair turned grey. 'Tis now two years since Humphrey's death, and I have recently felt that I would like to marry again. If I do it shall be nothing less than an Earl this time, and one with prospects sufficient for me to have good hopes of raising him to higher rank through my powerful political connections. Diego naturally takes it ill that, being a widow, I will not grant him his desires. So I have fobbed him off by telling him of my ambitions, and vowing that I will lie with no man again until I once more enter a marriage bed. That would give a possible basis for this story; but, even so, I cannot bring myself to believe it."

"I now doubt it, too. Yet for Isabella's sake I must act as though I thought her right, and take steps to prevent any possibility of so ghastly an outcome to her fears."

"You feel, then, definitely committed to elope with her?"

"In view of all that lies between us, I am resolved upon it."

"Oh, Roger! I know well the mad acts that love at times impels us to. But is there no other way for you in this? Think, dearest! In these Catholic countries there is no divorce; and I greatly doubt her ever getting an annulment of her marriage. She might have had she eloped with you in Naples and later concealed the birth of her child. But since she has had her infant here it can no longer be pleaded that the mar­riage was never consummated. Think of your future. A man of your parts might rise to any height; but what future can there be for you if you are tied for life to a woman who is not your wife ?"

"I know it, and am resigned to that. We shall have to live quietly —under an assumed name perhaps. But we love one another, so we shall be happy."

Georgina sighed. "I wish that I could think it. But passion is not enough; not even if the bond of intellect goes with it. She has a kind of bookish cleverness, but not a spark of humour. And, Roger dear, I know you so well. After a twelvemonth you would be desperate miserable with any woman who could not laugh with you over the silly, stupid sort of things that cause so much merriment to happy baggages like myself."

The thought of Amanda Godfrey suddenly came into his mind. She, too, was a "happy baggage" who would never lack things in life at which to laugh. Then he realized that the thought of her had come to him owing to Georgina's use of the phrase "a bookish cleverness". Amanda had used it in describing to him the mentality of the cousin whom she had no cause to love. After a second, he replied:

"Making every allowance for my predilection where Isabella is concerned, I think you unjust in your estimate of her. The fact that she is exceptionally well educated for a woman is no demerit. That she is serious-minded by nature, I grant you; but she has great integrity and a most sweet and charming disposition."

"Mayhap you are right." The splendid rings on Georgina's hands glittered as she fluttered them in a little, helpless gesture. "I hardly know her, so am not properly qualified to judge."

Roger looked puzzled. "But did I not understand that you accom­panied the Sidonia y Ulloas from Naples? If so you must have been in their intimate company during a journey occupying the best part of a month."

"Nay; you are wrong in that. Papa and I met them in Naples and Don Diego began to pay his court to me at once. Naturally I met his Condesa in society, but saw no more of her than I would have of any other wife in similar circumstances. When Diego asked us to visit them in Spain she joined her formal invitation to his pressing one; but we journeyed by different routes. Papa wished to visit Gibraltar, so we arrived here from the South, whereas they came the shorter way via Valencia, and reached Madrid a fortnight before us. On our arrival the Condesa had already left for the, country and Don Diego installed us in this charming pavilion, so we did not see her again until we accompanied him to his castle for the birth and celebrations. But tell me, Roger, about the origin of your affaire with her."

"It was just a year ago at/Fontainebleau . . ." he began; and when he had told the tale their talk led from one thing to another ranging over their experiences in the past year, so it was three o'clock in the morning before they parted.

When they did so Roger was convinced that although Georgina had no thought at all of devoting her future to Don Diego her feeling for him was deeper than most that she experienced; since, much as she wanted to get back to Stillwaters, she had already lingered in Spain on his account longer than she had at first intended, and was still putting off the date of her return from reluctance to break with him. And it was very unlike the strong-minded Georgina to allow her plans to be upset by her love affairs.

Georgina was equally convinced that Roger was caught up in a grande passion for Isabella, and that nothing would now deter him from going through with their elopement. Much as she deplored it as ruinous to his future prospects, she had, out of loyalty, agreed to do everything she could to help him, and she was admirably situated to do so. Roger's first fence was the difficulty of securing a meeting with Isabella alone, so that they could concert a plan, and Georgina had agreed to bring her to the pavilion at the siesta hour the following day, which would enable the two lovers to spend the whole afternoon together.

In consequence, in the broiling midday sunshine Roger once more arrived at the little Moorish building and, to his delight, he found Isabella already there, alone in the tiled lounge.

They embraced with all their old fervour, and it was several minutes before they were in any state to talk coherently. When, at length, they had regained their breath a little and settled themselves on the divan that Georgina had graced the previous night, Isabella said:

"Let me at once confess myself wrong about Lady Etheredge. I feel convinced now that she has all along been completely innocent of any evil design; and this morning she could not have been sweeter to me. She frankly confesses a great fondness for Diego, and says that in view of my love for you she does not see why she should give him up until she has a mind to return to England. But she will aid us all she can, and assures me that for the whole of this afternoon she will guarantee our remaining undisturbed here."

"I knew we could count upon her," Roger smiled, "and I am more glad than I can say that you now recognize her for the dear, sweet creature that she is."

Isabella nodded. "I have had little chance to do so before, as this morning was the first time we have ever been alone together for more than a few moments. Yet though she be innocent, and despite all she urges to the contrary, I am still convinced that my husband plans to do away with me on her account."

"Have you, sweet, any fresh evidence of that?"

"None, other than the looks of deadly hatred that he casts at me when he thinks himself unobserved. But Quetzal was so very definite. He is outside now, keeping a watch lest Diego should take it into his head to pay a call upon Lady Etheredge, although that is most unlikely at this hour. I will have the boy in, and you can question him yourself if you wish."

"If you are yourself convinced upon the matter, that is enough. I will take you away immediately I have completed my arrangements. What, though, of the interim? I had been counting, if pushed to it by dire necessity, on hiding you in Madrid till we could start; but Aranjuez is too small a place to offer any concealment, and the moment you leave your husband a hue and cry will break out. Can you yet guard yourself for a few days?"

"I trust so. I have put myself on a most careful diet, and I doubt if Diego's sombre thoughts will actually key him up to an attempt until he is driven desperate by Lady Etheredge announcing her intention to return home."

"Even so, I shall be anxious for you every moment until we can get away. But once we are in England I swear I will do my utmost to make you happy."

"Life will be far from easy for us," she murmured. "Diego is a good Catholic and has much influence with the Church; so I am in hopes that he will succeed in putting me from him after a time. But now that I have borne him a child the easiest means of securing an annulment are barred to him."

"Let us not think of that. The essential thing is to place you beyond reach of danger as swiftly as possible. Tell me; do you regard it as essential to take Quetzal and Maria with us ?"

"Naturally I would wish to do so. But in that I am in your hands, my love. 'Tis for you to decide if I may."

"I should be most loath to deprive you of them. 'Tis bad enough that you should be forced to abandon your infant."

She shook her head. "I have not had it long enough to acquire a mother's fondness for the poor little thing; and the fact that it is Diego's instead of yours has put a check upon the warmth of the feeling which I would normally have for it. My mother and father were at the castle for its birth. She, I know, will give it the tenderest care, unless Diego decides that one of his sisters shall bring it up, and both of them are kindly women."

"That, at least, is a comfort," Roger agreed. "The difficulty about our taking Maria and the boy lies in the long journey we must make over bad roads before we can reach a port; and I am much perturbed by it. Your disappearance and mine cannot possibly be concealed for more than a few hours, and in such a small place as Aranjuez everyone will swiftly learn of our going. Whether Don Diego has any genuine desire to reclaim you or nay, 'tis certain that, regarding his honour as touched, he will feel compelled to set off in pursuit; so unless we leave on fast horses and without encumbrances of any kind I greatly fear we shall be overtaken."

"My clever love, you are right in that; and, knowing in my heart that you would not fail to come for me, 'tis a matter that I have been pondering over ever since I wrote my letter to you."

"Have you then devised some plan?" Roger asked with quick interest.

"Yes. 'Tis to get my husband sent away on a mission, so that once he has left Aranjuez we will have a clear field."

"The idea is an excellent one, but are you in any position to carry it out ? I gather you have been here only four days, so can know hardly anyone at Court"

"I was here for a fortnight before going to the castle to have my child, and during that time made at least one powerful friend. I took special pains to cultivate the Queen's favourite, Manuel Godoy."

"I was informed that he played no part in State affairs, and that all such matters still lay in the hands of Count Florida Blanca."

"That is true in the main, but may not continue to be so for long." Isabella leaned towards him intently. "This is the present situation. Florida Blanca ousted my father from office sixteen years ago and remained supreme in the Councils of Carlos III until die late King's death; but since the opening of the new reign his position has been by no means so secure. My father, both during his long Ambassadorship in Paris and since his retirement, has always remained the leader of a powerful Opposition. He and Godoy have now formed a secret alliance to oust Florida Blanca."

Her mouth twitched in a subtle smile, as she went on: "The mission I have in mind is one to France. Their Majesties have for some time been contemplating sending a special envoy there to consult with Louis XVI. As members of his family they are naturally much con­cerned by the weakening of his power, and are anxious to do anything they can to infuse new strength into the French monarchy. Florida Blanca maintains that all that can be done is already being done by our Ambassador, Count Fernanunez. The Queen, on the other hand, favours sending one of our great nobles to reinforce him. My father was suggested, but he is set upon remaining here, so that should

Florida Blanca make a false step he will be at hand to take advantage of it. But my father and Godoy are anxious that whoever is sent to Paris should be pledged to their interests; and Diego possesses all the neces­sary qualifications. I suggested him to my father, and having obtained his consent put the idea to Manuel Godoy three evenings ago. He thought it admirable, and is at present working on the Queen with that in view."

Roger looked at her a shade apprehensively. "But if they settle upon Don Diego for this task, would not you, as his wife, have to go with him?"

"Normally I should be expected to do so; but not in my present circumstances. My recent delivery, and the care so young a child still requires, will serve as an admirable excuse for me to remain behind, for a few weeks at least. And I should give out that I intended to follow him later."

"What view does Don Diego take of this proposal?"

"As yet he is unaware of it. I asked Godoy to make no mention of it to him. I said that should the matter be settled favourably I would like to tell him of it myself, as it is a considerable honour and would prove a pleasant surprise. The truth is I feared that, did he become aware of what was afoot before the Queen's choice was fixed, he would seek to oppose the plan on account of its separating him from Lady Etheredge."

"Think you, should he be nominated, that he will go without protest?"

"If 'tis the King's order he will not dream of questioning it. No Hidalgo of Spain would even contemplate refusing a mission from his Sovereign." Isabella was smiling a little grimly as she spoke, but after a moment she added with less confidence: "We can count on nothing yet, though. Everything still hangs upon Godoy persuading the Queen of Diego's suitability for the mission."

"I would that I could forward this excellent project in some way," Roger said, with a thoughtful smile. "Tonight, you, I and Don Diego are to have audience of Their Majesties while I recount to them some­thing of my experiences in France. It is just possible that the question of sending a special envoy to Paris may crop up then."

Isabella's dark eyes sparkled. "You are right. A word in season is just what is required to decide the Queen, and this may prove the very opportunity to speak it Could you insert into your discourse some mention of the high regard in which King Louis and Madame Marie Antoinette still hold the d'Aranda, and how they still speak with affection of both him and myself, I pray you, as you love me, do not neglect the chance."

"On the contrary, I shall seize upon it," Roger assured her quickly.

"And I am filled with admiration for the way in which you, my own, have thought this out and paved the way so skilfully. Should your clever plan succeed, we'll be spared all the nerve-racking anxiety of a pursued elopement. About mid-May you could announce that you felt your child strong enough to permit of your following your husband, and set out with Maria, Quetzal and a whole coach-load of luggage. I would leave a few days in advance of you, and in a different direction, so that none of Don Diego's relatives could form the least suspicion that there was any connection between our departures. Then we would meet at a pre­arranged rendezvous, make our way to Lisbon and be safe aboard a ship before our elopement was even guessed at. Oh, what a blessed relief it will be if only things are made so easy for us!"

Simultaneously, they sighed in happy anticipation of such a fortu­nate solution to their difficulties and slid once more into one another's arms.

Nearly three hours later they were still embraced, when there came a discreet knock on the door. They had no idea that the time had passed so swiftly, but it was Georgina who had come to warn them that they ought not to linger for much longer.

When she joined them a few minutes later, Isabella thanked her with special warmth for having arranged the rendezvous, and it was only then that Roger learned how fraught with difficulties their intrigue would have been without her. For it transpired that although Isabella was married, as she was under thirty Spanish etiquette still required that she should have a duenna, and she was never allowed to go outside the grounds of her house without being accompanied by this dragon.

Before Isabella left them she told Roger that she had suggested to her husband that he should dine with them that evening, as the three of them could then go on afterwards to the Palace together; so he would find a note inviting him, at the Embassy villa. Then, when she had gone Roger and Georgina settled down for another talk and a few minutes later Colonel Thursby joined them.

Georgina had no secrets from her fond, indulgent father, and knew that Roger had none either—as far as his love affairs were concerned—so she had told the Colonel that morning of the projected elopement. He had been greatly distressed on hearing of it, and, standing as he did almost as a second father to Roger, he now did his utmost to dissuade him from making an alliance that must prove so disadvantageous to his future. But Roger's three hours with Isabella had revived much of his old feeling for her, and in the three weeks since he had received her letter he had come to accept it as a fact beyond all argument that, cost what it might in worldly prospects, his life was now irrevocably linked with hers.

At five o'clock, now dressed for the Court, Roger presented himself at the Sidonia y Ulloa mansion, where he found that the party consisted only of his host and hostess, Georgina, Colonel Thursby and Isabella's duenna. Don Diego received him with extreme politeness and he took special care not to arouse the Count's jealousy by showing too great a familiarity with Georgina; moreover, blowing that Spanish gentlemen did not even allow their wives to tread a minuet in public with another man, unless they had first received permission to do so, he treated Isabella with the utmost formality, speaking to her only when she addressed a question to him.

Even Georgina showed an unusual restraint in this frigid atmo­sphere, and the dinner would have proved an exceptionally dull one had it not been for Colonel Thursby. Although he was well aware of the tempestuous undercurrents that lay beneath the restraint of four out of five of his companions, he showed no sign of it. With the ease and polish of a highly cultured man who had spent half a lifetime moving in the best society of the European capitals he opened up a dozen subjects, drawing first one and then another of them into the conversation.

As they rose from the table at the end of the meal, Georgina asked Don Diego how a portrait that he was having painted of himself was progressing. He replied that the Court painter, Goya, seemed quite a talented fellow and bade fair to produce a reasonable likeness; but as to that he would value her opinion. He did not include anyone else in his invitation to see the picture, and as Georgina took his arm Isabella tactfully showed that she had no intention of following them, by drawing Roger's attention to a fine Velazquez over the mantelpiece in the dining-room.

Out of the corner of his eye Roger caught sight of the old duenna's face, and was amused to see her give a shocked glance first at Georgina's back, then in Isabella's direction. Obviously she was highly scandalized both by the brazen behaviour of the one in going off alone with her host and at the other's breach of convention in failing to give her guest the protection of her company. As clearly as if the old woman's skull had been made of glass he could see the thought agitating it, that the moment Don Diego had Georgina outside the door he would commit an assault upon her. Knowing his Georgina so well he was quite certain that Don Diego would get no more than a few kisses, unless she chose to let him; but he thanked his stars that he was not forced to live in a country such as Spain, where a man and woman could not walk down a corridor alone without being suspected of the grossest immorality.

After only about ten minutes the truant pair joined the rest of the party in the salon, and Roger was intrigued to see that, while Georgina appeared completely at her ease, Don Diego could not conceal traces of the most violent emotion. His handsome face had gone quite grey, causing his knife-like nose to stand out grotesquely from it, and his big dark eyes were so limpid that it looked as if tears were likely to roll down his pale cheeks at any moment. His distress was such that he could not speak, and only nodded, when Colonel Thursby reminded him that it was time for those of them who were going to the Palace to start; but Georgina gave him a chance to pull himself together by launching out on a lively appreciation of Senor Goya's painting.

As soon as Don Diego had somewhat recovered, he, Isabella and Roger said good night to the others and went downstairs to a waiting coach. On the short drive to the Palace Don Diego sat hunched in gloomy silence, and Isabella was greatly puzzled as to what had come over her husband; but Roger was delighted to see him so suddenly and completely overwhelmed. He felt confident that it was due to a measure that he had concerted with Georgina that afternoon, after Isabella had left them, and he could now only pray that the other half of the plot he had contrived would prove equally successful.

On arriving at the Palace they went first to Manuel Godoy's apart­ments. The young courtier received them with the usual ceremonious compliments, then led them through several lofty, vaulted corridors to the presence chamber. It was a square room, painted white and gold and hung with tapestries depicting the life of John the Baptist; but it was very sparsely furnished. There were ho settees, chests or side tables round its walls; only two high, stiff-backed elbow chairs with foot-rests in front of them stood in the centre, and grouped in a semi-circle before them half a dozen low, upholstered stools. King Carlos and Queen Maria Luisa occupied the chairs, behind them respectively stood two gentle­men and two ladies, and two of the royal children were seated on the stools nearest to their parents.

After the ritual of reception had been observed the Sidonia y Ulloas, being of sufficient rank to enjoy the honour of the tabouret, as the stools were called, sat down on two of them; but Roger was not invited to sit, and during the entire audience he remained standing—a distinction he shared with Manuel Godoy, who, father and grandfather of Kings and Queens as he was later to become, was as yet also considered as too lowly a person to be permitted to ease his feet in the presence of the Sovereigns.

But Roger did hot regard this marked discrimination in accordance with birth as strange. He had been privileged to sit on several informal occasions when talking to crowned heads; but the Spanish Court was notoriously rigorous in the maintenance of strict etiquette, and even in England such distinctions were still carefully observed. He remembered once when at Holwood House he had heard Mr. Pitt remark to the com­pany that at official interviews King George III always received him standing, because the Monarch was too polite to sit down while keeping his Prime Minister on his feet, yet felt that he could not possibly allow a Minister who was a Commoner to be seated; and that on one occasion, although at the time the King was seriously ill, the two of them had discussed business for over four hours while remaining the whole time standing one on either side of a table.

The fat-faced, hook-nosed King Carlos opened the conversation in French—as Roger knew only a few words of Spanish—by enquiring after the health of his cousins Their Majesties of France. Roger replied that when he had last seen them, two months previously, they were both much worried but otherwise in as good health as could be expected. He added that now King Louis was virtually a prisoner in the Tuileries he greatly missed his hunting, but got such exercise as he could by wielding a hammer at his locksmith's anvil, and also consoled himself to some extent by spending a good part of his time at his other hobby of making clocks.

Queen Maria Luisa then took charge of the proceedings and during the next hour and a half plied Roger with scores of questions.

Among other things she asked him if he had met the Spanish Ambassador; so, while not unduly depreciating the qualities of the Conde Fernanunez, he had an excellent opportunity for saying how highly the Conde d'Aranda and his family were still esteemed at the Court of France. But most of her questions concerned the new powers assumed by the National Assembly and the scenes of violence that had taken place.

The Spanish Sovereigns were incredibly shocked by his description of the attack on Versailles and the events that had followed it; as, although they had had numerous written accounts of these matters from various sources, they had never before heard them described by an eye-witness, and had little idea of the indignities to which the Royal Family of France had been subjected.

When the Queen could think of no more questions to ask she turned her beady little eyes on the King and said something to him in Spanish.

Up to then Don Diego, evidently occupied with his own sombre thoughts, had paid only the attention demanded by politeness to what was going on; but at the Queen's words Roger saw him give a violent start.

After a moment the dull-witted King nodded his head and, still speaking in French, replied: "Yes, we must certainly send a special envoy, if only to show our sympathy. He could, at the same time, press them on that other matter."

Suddenly Don Diego jumped to his feet, threw himself on one knee before his Sovereigns, and began to gabble away in Spanish at nineteen to the dozen.

Roger glanced at Isabella; her face was flushed and her eyes were shining with excitement. He looked at Godoy; the favourite's well­ modelled mouth was curved in a pleased smile. He knew then that the plot he had hatched with Georgina that afternoon was working.

In Don Diego's pleading he caught the word "Neapoli", then the name "d'Aranda" several times repeated, so he was able to guess the gist of what the Count was saying to be: "As I have lived in Naples since the beginning of Your Majesty's reign, I have so far had little opportunity to be of service to you. I beg you now to allow me to show my devotion as your envoy to Paris, and as the son-in-law of the Conde d'Aranda utilize the prestige his name still carries there."

The Queen spoke to the King; the heavy Monarch nodded; Don Diego jumped up with a delighted cry and kissed the hands of first one then the other; Isabella joined her thanks to those of her husband by throwing herself at the feet of the Queen, and received a friendly pat on the head. The two Infantes, Godoy, and the ladies- and gentlemen-in-waiting all exclaimed with pleasure and offered Don Diego their congratulations.

The little scene was a revelation to Roger that the Spaniards did, on occasion, show spontaneous emotion; but it was soon over, for, as though ashamed of having done so, they swiftly resumed their formal dignity, and in that atmosphere the audience was terminated. Godoy alone continued to give free rein to his exuberance, and when he had escorted the visitors from the presence chamber he at once insisted that before going home they should take a glass of wine with him to the success of the mission.

In his apartment a fine old Malaga was produced, and when the toast had been drunk the handsome favourite courteously asked Roger if he would permit him to speak in Spanish with Don Diego for a few moments. Roger only too willingly consented, as it gave him an oppor­tunity to offer his arm to Isabella, and lead her to the other side of the room on the pretext of admiring a fine collection of bull-fighting swords that hung on the wall there.

As they stood looking at the beautifully chased blades of blue Toledo steel, she whispered with a little catch in her voice: "What marvellous fortune, my love! For him to request this mission himself was more than I could possibly have hoped for. But why he should wish to go to Paris I cannot think."

"I can," Roger whispered back. "We owe this to Lady Etheredge. She intended to stay on here for some time, and when at length she could bring herself to break with him, to hurry back to England. But out of fondness for me she agreed instead to tell him that she means to spend some time in Paris on her way home, and had decided to set out next week. It was her telling him so after dinner that caused his desperate agitation, and what followed was the result of it."

Isabella squeezed his arm. "Oh! Rojé,what a brilliant stroke of yours; and how grateful I am to her."

"But in this we have courted a great risk," he warned her gravely. "With time before him Don Diego may well have been putting off so terrible a decision as to make a definite attempt upon your life. Now his coming departure will force him to face the issue. Either he must aban­don his awful thought and go to Paris still tied to you, or seek to gain his freedom by using the poison before he sets out. You could still slip away tonight and I could meet you to escort you to some place of hiding; but otherwise I beg you not to relax your watchfulness for a single moment."

She turned a trifle pale, but her low voice was firm. "You are right. Only now has my danger become acute. Yet to leave home prematurely would be to throw away all that we have gained. On the plea of health I shall drink naught but water and place myself on an even stricter diet."

A few minutes later they were in the coach on their way to the Embassy villa, with the intention of dropping Roger there. It had not proceeded fifty yards before Don Diego said to his wife:

"Senor Godoy has warned me that this mission has been under consideration for some time; so Her Majesty now wishes it to leave with a minimum of delay. We are to set out next week, so it would be well for you to start tomorrow on your preparations for our departure."

Roger was filled with admiration for the steadiness of Isabella's voice, as she replied: "If that is your wish it is for me to obey you. But have you as yet given full thought to our child? He is not yet a month old and we could not possibly expose him at so tender an age to the hazards of the journey. For another month at least he should have my personal care. Would it not be best if I remain with him till mid-May, then follow you to Paris ?"

For a long moment Don Diego remained silent. Roger and Isabella hardly dared to breathe. For them everything now hung on this decision, and they both knew that should it prove unfavourable to them she could not possibly disobey her husband.

After what seemed an eternity Don Diego said: "I judge you right, Madame. You had best remain here with our sonf or another month or so."

When they dropped Roger at the villa he waited there for half an hour to give ample time for the coast to be clear, then walked round to see Georgina and the Colonel in their Moorish pavilion.

As soon as he told them how perfectly the plot had worked they both expressed their pleasure for him, but Georgina was very far from being in her usual good humour.

"Oh, damn you, Roger!" she exclaimed, after a moment. "Paris is the very last place to which I would wish to go, now 'tis in the hands of those vile revolutionaries. Yet on your account I am committed to it."

"Knowing your reluctance to do so, I am all the more grateful," he said gently. "But you have said several times that you are not yet disposed to break with Don Diego, and now you can both travel with him on the greater part of your journey home and remain in Paris with him as long as you wish."

"But now that spring is here, 'tis at Stillwaters I wish to be," she murmured petulantly.

He smiled. "It has ever been your nature to wish to have your cake and eat it too; but you cannot both be soon at Stillwaters and keep Don Diego. You told me last night that rather than give him up you meant to stay on here for some time."

"I did indeed. The dratted man holds some special fascination for me. Yet I think by the end of the month I might have worked myself free of it. And you know well my habit of letting things slide until some incident causes me to take a sudden decision. As long as Papa and I remained here we could at any time by way of Lisbon have got home in a month; whereas now it will take us much more than that to get to Paris; so I'll be lucky if I see Stillwaters before June is gone."

"Come, my dear," Colonel Thursby said quietly. " 'Tis not like you to grudge some upsetting of plans for your own pleasure in the urgent service of so old a friend as Roger."

"Nay," she replied, with a sudden smile. "I fear I am being plaguey churlish, Roger dear. I beg you to forgive me."

"There is naught to forgive." He took her hand and kissed it. "I am beyond expression grateful for all you have done and are about to do."

They arranged that Georgina should again contrive for Isabella to come to the pavilion on the following day; then Roger took his leave.

The demands of his own affairs during the past thirty hours had by no means put out of his mind Mr. Pitt's business; so next day, in the cool of the morning, he went to the Palace and waited upon the Caballero Heredia.

The Spaniard expressed courteous surprise at receiving a second visit from him after a lapse of only two days; but Roger again stressed the urgency of the matter upon which he had been sent to Spain, and asked when he was to have his audience with the Count Florida Blanca.

"I fear, Monsieur, that you have failed to take into account the fact that many urgent matters must always claim the attention of a Prime Minister," the Caballero replied blandly. "And at present His Excel­lency happens to be particularly heavily engaged. I have no doubt that he will make time to receive you in the course of the next few days, or early next week at the latest. In the meantime perhaps you will permit me to show you something of our beautiful Spain. Have you yet visited Toledo?"

Roger had to admit that he had not; and, although he was most loath to leave Aranjuez even for a night, when the diplomat offered to take him there he felt that he could not possibly refuse the invitation.

So it was arranged that the Caballero should call for him next morning in a carriage, then they would spend Wednesday night in Toledo and make the return drive on Thursday morning.

As Roger strolled back along the leafy avenues leading from the Palace, he decided that, although diplomatic politeness had forced him to accept this first invitation, it did not require him to suffer any further attempts on Heredia's part to gain time by taking him on such expeditions. Before leaving he had again pressed most strongly for an early audience with the Prime Minister, and if it was not granted by the end of the week he meant to begin making Heredia's life a misery by going to badger him every day.

King Carlos' words—"He could, at the same time, press them on that other matter", when referring to the envoy he was sending to condole with the French Sovereigns on their misfortunes—had not escaped Roger; and he felt certain the "other matter" was to secure a definite promise from the French that they would honour the Family Compact in the event of Spain going to war with Britain over Nootka Sound. Although there was no outward sign of it he knew that the arrival of a personal representative from Mr. Pitt must have set the Court of Spain in a fine flutter. And that, he guessed, was the reason why Don Diego was being hurried off to France with barely a week's notice, instead of being allowed to set out at his leisure.

When Roger met Isabella in the afternoon he had from her an exciting confirmation of his suppositions. At eleven o'clock that morning her husband had received an order to wait upon Count Florida Blanca in the evening to receive his instructions. The note had further stated that Don Diego was now to be ready to leave Aranjuez not later than Thursday morning, and to make arrangements for the bulk of his baggage to follow him, as he was to proceed to Paris with all possible speed.

Roger had no doubt at all that this un-Spanish haste was the direct result of his call on Heredia some two hours before Don Diego had received the order; and was overjoyed by it. Actually, like Georgina, he was still far from convinced that Isabella's husband had ever had any intention of poisoning her; but the possibility that there might be real grounds for her suspicions was quite enough to cause him incessant anxiety. And now, the putting forward of Don Diego's departure reduced the time left him in which to make an attempt on her to less than two days.

For three happy hours they managed to put her danger out of their minds. When they parted it was with the terribly exciting thought that although, owing to Roger's trip to Toledo, they must somehow get through the awful strain of Wednesday without meeting, by Thursday afternoon Don Diego would be gone. The cover provided by Georgina would no longer be necessary. Roger would have only to slip through the gate for them to continue to meet in secret with little risk in the pavilion; and that when they next did so, in forty-eight hours' time, Isabella would be safe and free.

Having installed Roger in the villa, Mr. Merry, on the plea that his Consular duties required his attention in the capital, had returned to Madrid the previous afternoon; so that night Roger dined alone. After the meal he could not get his mind off the subject of poison, so spent a very bad four hours until it was dark enough for him to go round to the Moorish pavilion without risk of running into Don Diego.

He found Georgina in greatly improved spirits. First thing that morning Don Diego had called, told her with delight of his mission to Paris and begged that she and her father would travel in his company. Then, a few hours later, he had informed them that he would be leaving early on Thursday, and asked that they would leave all arrange­ments about sleeping coaches, a travelling kitchen and provisions to him. Her reluctance to go to Paris at all had been considerably mollified by a start being possible much earlier than she had expected, and Don Diego's intention of travelling at a speed which should get them there in a month, as the two factors combined might yet enable her to be at Stillwaters by the end of May.

As they would now be leaving before Roger's return from Toledo it was his last chance to talk to them about his own plans. Colonel Thursby, with a kindness typical of him, said that when Roger and Isabella reached London they were welcome to occupy his house in Bedford Square until they could find a place to live permanently, and Georgina said that Stillwaters would always be at their disposal. But suddenly, just as Roger was about to take his leave, she stood up, faced him squarely, and said:

"I still cannot bring myself to believe in the poison plot. I beg you, Roger, to give me your assurance that had you not been informed of it, and had some earlier opportunity occurred to revive your intimacy with the Condesa, you would still have formed this determination of eloping with her as soon as she had been delivered of her child?"

Roger had never told Georgina a lie in his life, and he could not bring himself to do so now.

"Nay," he said quietly. "I fear I cannot give you that assurance. After I left Naples I counted the matter as a chapter in my life that was closed. But I am deeply attached to Isabella and believe that we shall be happy. In any case, my honour is now involved in it, and nothing would induce me to draw back."

Feeling there was no more that she could say, she let him go. But no sooner was he outside the door than she burst into tears at the thought of the trouble she believed him to be laying up for himself;

and her wise, adoring father could think of little to say to bring her comfort as she sobbed again and again:

" 'Tis a tragedy, a tragedy! I would give ten years of my own life could I but think of some way to prevent it."

Roger slept ill on account of his anxiety for Isabella, and he had puzzled his wits in vain for some way of assuring himself that no ill had befallen her before he set off for Toledo; so, when the Caballero Heredia called for him at eight o'clock, he had to start on his trip still ignorant whether Don Diego had utilized his last night but one in Aranjuez to attempt her murder.

The day was fine and the drive pleasant, as the road lay for the whole thirty miles they had to cover along the banks of the Tagus, and the tortuous course of the river provided variety in an otherwise flattish landscape. Had Roger not been so worried for Isabella he would have thought even the distant sight of the ancient capital of Spain well worth the long drive, as it was set on a rugged pinnacle of granite, the foot of which was washed on three sides by a great bend in the river, and its towers, battlements and spires rising tier after tier against the blue sky made it look like a fairy city.

After the siesta they visited the Cathedral and in its treasury saw the image of the Virgin, roped with millions of doubloons' worth of pearls and other gems, that is carried in procession through the street on feast days; but Roger was more interested in the strange, distorted, greenish-hued paintings by El Greco that hung in the chapels of many of the lesser churches. He was, too, fascinated by the unusual silence that pervaded so large a city, on account of the cobbled ways between its old Moorish buildings being mostly too steep and narrow to permit the passage of traffic. In the evening they went to the fortress-palace of the Alcazar, where the Governor entertained them to a meal and provided them with accommodation for the night.

On the Thursday morning they set off early on the return journey and were back in Aranjuez just before midday. In normal circumstances Roger would have enjoyed the excursion enormously, and he did his best to show his appreciation to Heredia; but he got rid of the Caballero at the earliest possible moment in order to hurry round to the Sidonia y Ulloa mansion.

When visiting the pavilion earlier in the week he had never seen anyone about the grounds during the siesta hour and, had he done so, he could have said that he was calling on his compatriot, Colonel Thursby. Now he no longer had that excuse he wondered a little anxiously if his luck would hold, and he would continue to escape observation. But that anxiety was a small matter compared with the acute one to reassure himself that Isabella had come unharmed through her husband's last two days in Aranjuez.

As he hurried down the avenue he saw Quetzal standing outside the gate. An awful doubt seized upon his mind. Had Isabella stationed the boy there to warn him that there was someone in the grounds or was he, knowing that she expected her lover, waiting there to break some ghastly news ?

A moment later Quetzal caught sight of him and began to run in his direction. During his visit to Naples, and while in Aranjuez, Roger had not seen the little Indian, so it was over ten months since they had met. He thought the youngster had grown considerably, and his educa­tion had evidently progressed; as, when he was still some twenty yards off, he broke out into heavily accented but quite understandable French:

"Monsieur le Chevalier! I have a carriage waiting. We are to collect your things and set out at once for Madrid."

"For Madrid 1" echoed Roger. "In God's name, why?"

"Yes. They will sup and rest there before proceeding further. If we start at once we can catch them up by nightfall. My mistress said you could give as an excuse for joining them a belated thought that you would like to make the journey to Paris in the company of your English friends."

"What the devil are you talking about?" Roger exclaimed. "I have no wish to go to Paris. I could not, even if I had, as important matters detain me here. Tell me at once"

"But you must! You must!" the boy broke in. "Did you not come to Spain to save my mistress?"

"Indeed I did!"

"Then how can you allow aught else to detain you?"

Quetzal's black eyes were now flashing angrily, and Roger, still at a loss to understand what lay behind his excited words, cried with puzzled impatience:

"Mort Dieu! Be plain with me. Is your mistress still alive and well ?"

"Would I be here if she were not?"

"Thank God for that! Then take me to her."

"Am I not begging to do so ? The carriage waits."

"What! Mean you that she has gone to Madrid?"

"Have I not said so, Monsieur?"

**You had not! But why? Why has she gone? Is it that she has accompanied them on the first stage of the journey, and means to see them off from the capital?"

"It was the Queen, Monsieur. Yesterday Her Majesty learned of my mistress's decision to remain here with her baby. She was angry. She said that the name Sidonia y Ulloa means nothing in Paris; but that of d'Aranda everything. That 'tis not Don Diego, but my mistress, who is the friend of Madame Marie Antoinette, and so can help to win her support for the cause of Spain. Last night there came with all this I tell you an imperative order from the Queen. So my mistress is still with that fiend who would murder her, and now on her way to Paris."

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

THE OUTCOME OF THE MISSION

ROGER stood aghast, staring in dismay at the young, brown-faced Aztec Prince with the beautifully embroidered clothes and gaily feathered headdress. The plot that he and Isabella had hatched for getting Don Diego sent to Paris had recoiled on their own heads. They had been too clever, and were now hoist with their own petard; or at least separated by it more effectually than they could have been by anything else short of death or prison.

"For what are you waiting, Monsieur?" The little Indian grasped his sleeve and pulled at it impatiently. "Every moment is precious!"

"I have told you," Roger muttered, shaking off his hold. "I cannot go to Paris."

"Cannot go to Paris ?" Quetzal repeated in astonishment. "Do you mean that you abandon my mistress?"

Roger bit his lip, then burst out: "God knows I have no wish to! But 'tis impossible for me to leave Aranjuez. I have business here that no other person can handle for me."

The boy's eyes suddenly filled with hate. "Business 1" he cried. "How can you mention it in the same breath with my mistress? I had believed you loved her. Yet you are willing to leave her to be poisoned by that fiend rather than sacrifice some interest of your own."

The midday sun was glaring down. Roger pulled out his handker­chief and mopped his perspiring face; then he said firmly: "Listen, Quetzal. I swear to you that I am no less devoted to your mistress than yourself. But there is a thing called duty as well as one called love; and sometimes they conflict. Mine, for the moment, is to remain here. Yours is to catch the Condesa up as swiftly as you can, and do your utmost to protect her while on the road to Paris. Tell her, I beg, that my business here should not take long, and that the instant it is con­cluded I shall follow her. And that I love her more than anything in the world. Will you do that for me?"

Impressed by Roger's evident earnestness and emotion, the boy nodded. "So be it, then. I will give her your message."

Without another word he turned and ran back to the gates outside which he had been standing. Roger, too, turned and, shaken to the depths by his recent encounter, walked slowly away. He had not covered fifty paces before the carriage that Quetzal had had waiting to take them to Madrid issued from the gates, its horses moving at a gallop, and passed him, covering him in a cloud of dust.

As he watched it disappear his thoughts were chaotic. Isabella had no idea of the importance of the mission he had been given, so what would she think of him? How soon could he follow her? He could not force Count Florida Blanca to give him an audience immediately. It was unlikely that he would be able to get away from Aranjuez for at least another week. And Don Diego intended to travel at high speed. They would be half-way to Paris, or further, before he could catch them up.

But of what was he thinking ? Even when he had seen Count Florida Blanca he would not be free to go to Paris. His mission would still tie him. Mr. Pitt was anxiously awaiting the decision he had been sent to force. Whether it was for peace or war, he must carry it without an hour's delay back to London. In his shock and distress at finding Isabella gone he had promised to follow her; but he could do so only by breaking his promise to his master.

He had also told Quetzal that he loved her better than anything in the world. Was that really true? If it was he would be with Quetzal in the carriage on his way to Madrid at this moment. The fact that her life was in danger should have counted more with him than even Mr. Pitt's business. But was it? If Don Diego had really intended to poison her surely he would have done so before leaving for Paris, so that he would be free to make his bid for Georgina's hand on the journey.

If only their plan had worked everything would have been so simple. They could have waited in Aranjuez until he had his answer from Florida Blanca, then gone straight to London. But nowl What was to be done? What could be done? He could only hope and pray that his poor Isabella would survive the journey to Paris. If she did it would go a long way to show that her fears of being poisoned had no real founda­tion. As soon as he was through with his mission he could go to Paris, and to elope with her from there should not be difficult. What, though, if she never reached Paris? He could still go there, call Don Diego out and do his damnedest to kill him in a duel. But that would not bring Isabella back. Would he ever get over her loss? Yes, he had counted her as dead before and got over it, so he would do so again. Yet the thought of her dying in agony was unbearable.

Fears for her safety, distress that she would think he had abandoned her quite callously, and black frustration obsessed his thoughts for the rest of the day and most of the night. But on the Friday morning he got a grip of himself again.

He began to see things from a different angle. Fate had played such an extraordinary part in dictating the makes and breaks of his romance with Isabella, and now the blind goddess had intervened between them yet again. Perhaps, after all, Destiny did not intend their union. On the long journey to Paris Isabella would not be able to guard herself so carefully as she had while at home, and there would be many oppor­tunities for Don Diego to put poison in her food. Therefore, if she sur­vived the journey it could be taken as fair proof that Georgina was right, and that Isabella's husband had no intention of killing her.

Suddenly it occurred to him that, if that proved the case, he would no longer be committed to elope with her. She had refused to leave Naples with him when his passion was at its height; and, although it had since cooled, he had instantly responded to her appeal to come to Spain. It was no fault of his that their elopement had fallen through. So, since only her danger had brought him to Spain, if it emerged that she had never really been in danger, why should he, the moment he was free, dash off to Paris and enter on fresh plans to tie her life with his?

He had forced himself to close his mind against all the arguments that Georgina and her father had used in their attempts to dissuade him from running away with Isabella; but now he felt free to contemplate them in all seriousness and, as he had really known from the beginning, life with her unmarried to him in England would have been one long fight against difficulties and distresses. He had been willing to pay that price, but Fate had relented at the last moment and, it seemed now, still held for him a happier future.

Nevertheless, illogical as he knew it to be, he still felt a sense of guilt towards Isabella; and his anxiety for her safety continued to harass him to such an extent that, as the only means of temporarily freeing his mind from it, he decided that he must endeavour to con­centrate all his thoughts on his mission. So at an early hour he went to the Palace and called upon Heredia.

The Caballero expressed pleasure but mild surprise at seeing him again so soon, and said that since returning from Toledo he had had no opportunity to discuss Roger's matter with the Prime Minister; how­ever, he hoped to be able to arrange something for him by Sunday.

When Sunday came Heredia was urbane and courteous as ever, but still could give no definite date for an audience. He suggested that, while Count Florida Blanca disposed of other most pressing affairs, Roger might spend a few nights in Madrid with profit, and offered to do the honours of the capital for him.

Roger politely declined the invitation, then added coldly: "I am much surprised, Seiior Caballero, at the little weight that His Excellency the Prime Minister appears to attach to the fact that His Britannic Majesty's Prime Minister had sent a personal envoy to him. It is the desire of my master to settle the matters that lie between our countries amicably; but I have now been here a week and your master has not yet even found time to hear what I have to say. Should His Excellency continue to find himself too occupied to receive me during the course of the next three days, I shall be compelled to assume that it is because he has no wish to do so. My duty then will plainly be to return to England at once, and report His Excellency's attitude."

At this, the Caballero appeared much pained, and pretended that he thought Roger's behaviour most unreasonable. But he promised once more to do his best, and the following day the ultimatum produced the required result; Roger received a note stating that the Prime Minister would see him on Thursday, April 22nd, at four o'clock in the afternoon.

Heredia performed the ceremony of presentation, and Roger found himself bowing to an elderly man with good eyes but a lined, tired-looking face. Count Florida Blanca received his visitor with much politeness, but standing, and he did not invite him to sit down, so Roger was reminded of the interviews between King George III and Mr. Pitt.

He produced his letter, expressed Mr. Pitt's surprise at having received no reply to his note of February 26th, and went on to say: "His Britannic Majesty's Government is anxious to remain on terms of the utmost amity with that of His Most Catholic Majesty; but Your Excellency must appreciate that the high-handed action of certain Spanish ships last June in Nootka Sound was most prejudicial to the maintenance of such happy relations; and the dilatoriness of His Most Catholic Majesty's Government in giving satisfaction in the matter has given my master good grounds for supposing that they have no intention of doing so."

"Oh, come, Monsieur, come!" protested the Count. "That is to assume far too much."

"What other interpretation can be put upon your Government's continued silence, sir?" Roger enquired.

"We have been seeking ways, Monsieur. Seeking ways that we trust may lead to a suitable accommodation."

Roger bowed. "Your Excellency, I am delighted to hear it. In that case my coming will I hope prove of assistance to you, as I am empow­ered to inform you of the terms upon which His Britannic Majesty's Government . . ."

"Terms!" exclaimed the Spaniard haughtily. "I pray you, Mon­sieur, be pleased to withdraw such an offensive expression."

"If Your Excellency prefers we will call it a basis of agreement. The first clause of any treaty between our two countries would be the acknowledgment by Spain that the whole North American Pacific coast­line from parallel forty-five degrees north to Alaska, together with the hinterland as far east as the St. Lawrence river, form part of His Britannic Majesty's dominions."

Count Florida Blanca stared at Roger in angry astonishment. "You cannot mean this, Monsieur? Such a proposal is preposterous 1"

"So definitely do I mean it, Your Excellency," Roger replied firmly, "that I am instructed to inform you that it is the only basis upon which His Britannic Majesty's Government will consider the negotiation of a peaceful settlement."

"A peaceful settlement! What are you saying? Surely you do not infer that upon this matter England would proceed to extremities?"

Roger bowed again. "I should be failing in my duty if I left Your Excellency under the impression that this is a question of anything less than peace or war."

At this calling of a spade a spade the Spanish Prime Minister's mental shudder was almost perceptible. He felt that the handsome young man who had been sent to see him was the representative of a new and horrible age. The diplomats to whom he was accustomed were of the old-fashioned sort, who would have been perfectly happy to amuse themselves with the ladies of Madrid for a month or two before, with great reluctance, bringing themselves to use some term even vaguely implying the possibility of hostilities. After a moment, he said:

"This matter is one of the utmost gravity, and will require my most careful consideration."

"As I see it, sir," replied Roger promptly, "the issue is a perfectly simple one. Does or does not His Most Catholic Majesty's Government desire to negotiate on the basis that I have stated? But if Your Excel­lency is troubled with any doubts upon that score, I will present myself to receive your answer at this hour tomorrow."

Count Florida Blanca found it difficult to conceal his anger. He had counted on being able to evade any definite pronouncement on the Nootka question until he had further information on the likelihood of French support. Only a week had elapsed since Don Diego had been despatched to press the matter, so, apart from the unlikely chance that a favourable answer was already on the way, a considerable time must elapse before he could hope to hear anything definite; and here was this young cub of an Englishman endeavouring to force him to a decision within a matter of hours. With a sudden display of haughtiness he attempted to overawe his visitor.

"Indeed, Monsieur! Either I cannot have heard aright, or your youth must excuse your ignorance of diplomatic usage. Responsible Ministers do not take such momentous decisions overnight."

"I am, sir," Roger said, in a quiet but telling voice, "just nine months younger than was my master when he first became a Minister of the Crown. While I have no pretensions to his gifts, I can at least endeavour to emulate his despatch when dealing with urgent matters of business. On his behalf I must request a prompt reply."

Swiftly the Spaniard made amends for his impoliteness. "My reference to your, age was not intended as any reflection on your abilities, Monsieur. But you cannot reasonably expect a reply to such a sweeping demand in less than a matter of weeks."

Roger saw that he had got the tired old Prime Minister on the run, and decided to hit him hard again. "Your Excellency; I had, myself, thought that a week would be enough in which to settle our business, so promised my master that I would not linger here much beyond ten days. Yet, owing to your other occupations, I have already been compelled to kick my heels in Aranjuez for twelve days with nothing done. 'Tis no fault of mine that I must now press you to a prompt decision. The issue is a straightforward one. I must ask you to let me have your answer to it within forty-eight hours."

Ten minutes later, as Roger walked away from the Palace, he felt that he had not played his part too badly. However shocked, hurt, or offended the Spaniards might appear to be at his insistence on getting down to business, the truth was that they were only seeking to gain time; and the whole purpose of his mission was to bring them to book with a minimum of delay. Had he believed that it would serve any useful purpose he would have been far more tactful; but his instructions were definite, so he could only hope that his firmness would have the result that he so anxiously desired.

Hearing nothing further, on the Saturday morning he went to see Heredia, in order to confirm that Florida Blanca meant to receive him again that afternoon. It was as well he did so, as the Caballero pretended not to know anything about the arrangement, and said he feared that Count Florida Blanca had to attend a Royal Council which would keep him occupied for some hours after the siesta.

Roger announced calmly that it was all one to him at what hour His Excellency chose to summon him, but that he had ordered his horses for dawn next day; and that if he received no summons before that hour he would know what answer to carry back to England.

Again the ultimatum worked. Heredia, having excused himself for a few minutes, returned to say that the Prime Minister would look forward to a further talk if Roger would wait upon him at five o'clock the following afternoon; he could find time to give him half an hour before the Sunday Court.

As on the previous occasion, they remained standing for the duration of the interview; but this time the Spaniard greeted his visitor with apparent pleasure, as well as politeness. Roger, being still a child in such matters, thought that a good omen; and an indication that, after some face-saving remarks, Florida Blanca meant to give in.

The Prime Minister appeared to come to the point swiftly, with the genial announcement: "In the matter of the Americas, Monsieur, I now feel confident that Spain can meet the wishes of Britain; but naturally His Most Catholic Majesty would expect some practical acknowledg­ment of this friendly gesture."

"I am delighted to hear it, Your Excellency," Roger smiled, thrilled with the belief that his mission had been successful, and that he would be going home with a territory eight times the size of the Canadian settle­ments in his pocket. "My master would, I am sure, be willing to give you full satisfaction on all outstanding questions regarding your commerce."

"That goes without saying," shrugged the Count, "for 'tis a mere bagatelle. I had in mind a suitable compensation for the sacrifice that His Most Catholic Majesty would be making. There is only one which could be considered in any way adequate, but it would remove the last possible cause for friction between our two countries. I refer, of course, to Gibraltar."

Roger went quite white. He felt that the Spaniard had deliberately made a fool of him, and in a way that he would never have dared to do. with an older man. He was intensely angry. His eyes narrowed, and he said with quiet insolence:

"I find it amazing that anyone in Your Excellency's position should be so ignorant of history."

The Count flushed. "Monsieur! I do not understand . . ."

"Then I will make myself plain. Ten years ago, when my country had been much weakened by three years of exhausting effort to reduce her revolted colonies in the Americas, and in addition had for a year been at death grips with the French, Spain threatened to join her enemies; but offered to be bought off at the price of Gibraltar. His Britannic Majesty refused to cede the Rock then, so what can possibly lead Your Excellency to suppose that he would do so now?"

"Monsieur, you put a wrong interpretation on that issue. Spain has for long considered that she has a just title to the Rock, and at the time to which you refer made strong representations regarding it; but His Most Catholic Majesty would have entered the war in any case, since his honour obliged him to do so."

"You refer to his obligations under the Family Compact, do you not, sir?"

Florida Blanca nodded, then his eyes shifted from Roger's face. The conversation was not taking at all the line he had intended, and the last thing he wished to discuss was the implications of the Compact; but Roger swiftly followed up .his advantage.

"May I ask Your Excellency if that Treaty is still in force?"

"Certainly, Monsieur. Such friendly understandings with France have been a cardinal factor in the policy of Spain for several generations."

Roger's tone became more genial. "I thank Your Excellency for your frankness. More, I apologize for wasting your time by idle curiosity regarding a matter that has no concern for me." He paused, and added quietly: "Now I have Your Excellency's assurance that His Catholic Majesty is prepared to acknowledge those parts of North America I mentioned to you to be a portion of His Britannic Majesty's dominions."

"I implied that, but only with certain reservations, Monsieur." "I cannot think that Your Excellency was serious in your mention of Gibraltar."

"Then you were wrong, Monsieur. That is the price set by His Most Catholic Majesty on the transfer of his Sovereign rights in the North Pacific."

Roger saw that they had reached a dead end, and he was bitterly disappointed. He felt that to take so firm a stand and ask the impossible, the Spaniard must be very confident of receiving help from France. If that was so, then the sooner Britain declared war on Spain the better. But it was still possible that this might be bluff, and that a really high tone would yet produce a decision to give Britain what she asked, rather than face a war; so he said:

"By this demand for Gibraltar in exchange for a barren shore, to which the claim of Spain is by no means fully established, I fear Your Excellency has seen fit to trifle with me; but excusably perhaps, through my youth and inexperience giving so poor an impression of that which I represent. I would remind you now that behind the message I have brought lies the inflexible purpose of the greatest power in the world, and friendship with…"

"The greatest power!" exclaimed Florida Blanca haughtily. "Monsieur, you forget that you address a Spaniard; and that long before your country…"

With a swift gesture Roger cut him short. "I speak of the present. No other country than my own has within living memory fought a world in arms and emerged from the conflict unbroken. Friendship with my country would secure Spain her South American Empire; by war with Britain Spain would risk everything. I beg Your Excellency to allow me to return to my master with the happy tidings that you are prepared to enter into a peaceful settlement on the basis I have had the honour to convey to you."

The Count stubbornly shook his head. "That is impossible, without further consideration."

"How long does Your Excellency require? Not, permit me to add, before inviting me to discuss this matter again; but to give me a definite reply."

"How long are you prepared to give me?"

Roger knew that if he named a period of any length it would only be taken advantage of to the disadvantage of his country. If the Count meant to give way at all there was nothing whatever to prevent his doing so after an interval just sufficient to save his face. So he replied firmly:

"A further forty-eight hours should be ample for Your Excellency to decide so simple a question, and I cannot go beyond it."

Florida Blanca knew that it would be the best part of forty-eight days before he could expect a definite assurance of support from Paris, so it seemed pointless to keep this determined young man on a hook for a mere two days. He shrugged and said:

"Then I can only suggest that you should return to Mr. Pitt and tell him that the matter still has our most earnest consideration."

Roger bowed, turned and walked towards the door. Just before he passed through it he dropped one of the doeskin gloves he was carrying on the floor. It was his last card; the Prime Minister could either appear to think he had performed the act unwittingly and send it to him with a suggestion that, after all, it might be worth their having a further talk next day, or accept it as a symbol that Mr. Pitt really did intend to go to war.

As he left the Palace the thought that he had failed in his mission filled him with distress. He wondered if he had made too little allowance for Spanish pride, and acted too precipitately. Yet, on going over his two interviews with Count Florida Blanca again in his mind, he could not believe that he had. From his first receiving Mr. Pitt's instructions he had frequently thought of the conduct of his earliest friend in the diplomatic service, Lord Malmesbury, in very similar circumstances, twenty years earlier.

His Lordship had then been Mr. James Harris and a very junior official in the British Embassy at Madrid. In the summer heats of 1770 he had been temporarily left there as Charge d’Affaires. It had come to his knowledge that the Spaniards in Buenos Aires had secretly fitted out an expedition against the Falkland Islands, captured them, and expelled the British colonists. On his own responsibility he had instantly gone to the Spanish Prime Minister and threatened war unless the Falkland Islands were evacuated and full satisfaction for this unpro­voked assault afforded. The Spaniards had swallowed their pride then and acceded to his demands before the big guns of Whitehall had even been drawn into the matter. Roger felt that his language could have been no higher than that the now famous diplomat must have used, and in his case he had done no more than carry out very definite instructions. It was simply bad luck that the Spaniards felt either full confidence in French support, or that they could afford to ignore his challenge and still gain a little time before having to burn their boats.

Nevertheless, the thought that he had suffered defeat in the first diplomatic mission entrusted to him was extremely galling. He was, moreover, very conscious that far greater issues than his own prestige were involved, for his inability to carry home a satisfactory answer now meant that war was almost inevitable.

That night he sat up very late, hoping against hope that Florida Blanca might yet send his glove back with an invitation to another audience. But no messenger came, and as he still sat on he began to think of the dreary, hideously uncomfortable journey upon which he must set out next morning back across Spain and Portugal

It was then that the inspiration came to him. It needed more than a piece of paper to make an alliance of any value. In the event of its terms becoming operative both the countries that had signed it must take steps for active co-operation. In the present case Spain appeared ready to go to war, but France had not yet signified her willingness to do so. If by some means he could prevent France from honouring the Family Compact he would, after all, have succeeded in his mission.

He still had Mr. Pitt's Letter of Marque. He knew very well that it had been intended only as a credential to be used at the Court of Spain, but it was not addressed to anybody in particular. It simply said:

Mr. Roger Brook knows my mind upon the matter of Nootka Sound, and is commissioned by me to speak upon it.

And it was signed by Britain's Prime Minister. It could be used every bit as effectually in Paris as it could in Aranjuez. Roger knew somebody in Paris whom he thought would listen to him on his producing that letter. Somebody who still had very considerable influence, and, by causing France to refuse Spain's request for armed support, might yet prevent a war.

For greater speed he had already decided to face the horror of the Spanish inns and travel on horseback instead of in a coach. First thing next morning he arranged for horses and an interpreter. For full measure he gave Florida Blanca until after the siesta hour, but no messenger came to return his glove.

On April 26th at four o'clock in the afternoon, in a forlorn hope that he might yet save the peace of Europe, he set out for Paris.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

A la Lanterne

ROGER reached Paris on May 13th. He had used every means in his power to expedite his journey, but even with hard riding it had taken him eight days to get from Madrid to Pamplona, then another two on muleback, skirting hair-raising precipices through the misty passes of the Pyrenees, before he reached Bayonne. After that his passage had been far swifter, although no less exhausting, as he had travelled night and day by fast post-chaise.

He arrived in Paris dead-beat, but vastly cheered by two matters of the greatest importance to him. Although Don Diego's party had left Aranjuez twelve days in advance of himself he had passed it two nights before at Orleans. Isabella had then still been alive and he had succeeded in stealing forty-eight hours' march on what he now regarded as the rival Embassy.

From Bordeaux onwards he had enquired at every principal inn for news of the travellers ahead, and at six o'clock on the evening of the nth he had caught up with them. The four coaches that made up their cavalcade were being washed down in the yard of the Hotel St. Aignau, and he had learned that they intended to dine and pass the night there. A cautious reconnaissance had given him a glimpse of the party through a downstairs window, and having seen that Isabella looked perfectly well he had driven on through the night towards Paris.

Had it not been for a breakdown that night outside Toury, which delayed him several hours, he would have been in the capital by the following evening, but as it was his post-chaise did not set him down at La Belle Etoile until the early hours of the Thursday morning. Worn out as he was he knew that he would be fit for nothing that day, so he slept through it, and got up only to have an evening meal.

After it, in order to bring himself up to date with events in France during his three months' absence, he invited his old friend, Monsieur Blanchard, to join him in a bottle of wine. When they had settled down in the parlour, in reply to Roger's first question the landlord replied:

"Alas, Monsieur, Things here are no better than when you left us. Money and bread are scarce, and Monsieur de Lafayette seems quite incapable of keeping order. Not a day passes but there is some disturb­ance and people killed without the perpetrators of such crimes being brought to justice. Since the execution of the Marquis de Favras the mobs have taken openly to hanging people that they do not like."

"De Favras," murmured Roger. "He was accused of being mixed up in some counter-revolutionary plot with the Comte de Provence last winter, was he not? I recall that his trial was taking place at the time I left for England."

The Norman nodded. "Whether the King's brother was really involved I know not, but he saved himself from accusation by giving evidence against de Favras; and under the new law that decrees the same punishment for all classes the Marquis was hanged. 'Twas the first time a nobleman has ever died by the rope, and the sight of his body dangling from a gibbet in the Place de Grève seems to have set a fashion for the scum of the Faubourgs to murder their victims in that way. You will know how our lamps in Paris are strung up Dy ropes to their posts, so that they can be lowered to be lit or put out. 'Tis easy as winking to lower the nearest lantern, detach it, and string up a man in its place. Two or three times a week now, when the mob catches some unfortunate whom it does not like, the cry goes up 'A la lanterne! A la lanterne! and before the National Guard can come to his rescue he is choking his life out at the top of a pole."

"And what of the Royal Family?" Roger asked.

"They are still at the Tuileries. It is said that many plots have been made to carry them off from Paris, and each time there is a rumour of one the mob threatens to storm the Palace. The nearest they got to doing so was about a month ago. There was some shooting and a few people were killed, but the National Guard succeeded in driving off the rioters."

"The National Assembly is, then, no nearer achieving a strong and stable Government than when I was here last?"

Monsieur Blanchard shook his head. "Nay. 'Tis if anything more uncertain of itself; and more than ever dominated by the mobs and what passes at a Club called the Jacobins. Soon after you left us the Assembly elected the Bishop of Autun as its President. He seems a man of sense, but he is greatly hated by his own Order, and all who hold the Church in regard; particularly since his measure last November for confiscating all Church property has been seized upon as an excuse for many outrages. The intention was to sell a great part of the Church lands and fill the empty coffers of the nation with the proceeds; but the sans­culottes put a different interpretation on it. They say they are the 'nation' and that the riches of the Church now belong to them. So there have been numerous cases of mobs breaking into religious institutions to rob them of their altar plate, and any money that is to be found in their treasuries."

Roger asked many other questions, and although no event of major importance had taken place and no great riots on a scale of those in the preceding year, it was a grim tale of the general dissolution of order and increased lawlessness that the honest Norman had to unfold. In all but name the mob were now the masters and although, in a big city like Paris, the average citizen rarely actually witnessed an act of violence, unpunished killings and lootings were constantly occurring in one part or another of it.

Just as Roger was about go up to his room again, Monsieur Blanchard said: "Since Monsieur speaks French as well as most French­men, I strongly advise him to pass himself off as one while in the streets these days, for the English are become far from popular."

"Why so?" Roger enquired.

" 'Tis on account of the rumours of war that are in everyone's mouth. I do not know the rights of it. Some say that England is arming to attack Spain hoping that we shall feel obliged to go to the assistance of our old ally, which would then give the English a good excuse for seizing our colonies while we are in our present weak state. Others that it is a plot hatched between our Court and the Spaniards, to make war the excuse for marching a Spanish army into France, and with it depriving the people of their liberties. As a result of all this talk, both Englishmen and Spaniards are now regarded here with much suspicion, and liable to become the object of rough usage by the mob."

Roger thanked him, assured him that there was not an iota of truth in the story that Britain desired a war with France, then returned to his bed to make up some more of the sleep he had lost. When he awoke on the Friday morning he was feeling considerably less sore, mentally refreshed and in good heart to tackle the weighty matter upon which he had come to Paris; so he dug a sober suit out of the trunk he kept at La Belle Etoile, and as soon as he was dressed hired a hackney-coach to take him out to Passy.

Mr. Pitt's strictures upon the irreligious Bishop were one of the few matters upon which Roger still disagreed with his master. Monsieur de Talleyrand-Perigord was, he knew, an extremely slippery customer but, nevertheless, he believed him to be fundamentally honest and a real friend to Britain. In any case it was now of the utmost importance to Roger that he should get reliable information on how the leaders of the National Assembly viewed the prospect of war, so he had no hesitation in resuming relations with his secret ally.

When he arrived at the neat little house the Bishop was not yet up; but soon afterwards he came downstairs in a flowered silk dressing-gown and, limping into the sitting-room, made Roger welcome. A few minutes later the two of them were exchanging news over a breakfast of crisp new rolls and hot chocolate.

They had not been talking for long before Roger turned the con­versation to the Anglo-Spanish dispute. As he had been travelling for over a fortnight he had had no authentic news of the latest develop­ments, so he opened the matter by enquiring what his host thought of the general situation.

"I very much fear there will be war," replied de Perigord gravely. " 'Tis common knowledge that for six weeks past the most active preparations have been going forward in the dockyards of both Britain and Spain; and the attitude of both countries is highly belligerent. It seems that a belated Spanish reply to the first British note merely reiterated Spain's claim to sovereignty in the Pacific, and on its receipt early this month Mr. Pitt declared such pretensions totally inadmissible. My latest intelligence is that four days ago he asked Parliament to vote a million pounds for war supplies, and it was at once agreed. King Louis is using his best endeavours to mediate between the two disputants, but I doubt if that will have much effect when two such unbending peoples feel their honour touched upon."

"King Louis is still in a position to exert influence in international affairs, then?" Roger asked with interest.

"Most certainly. His powers in that sphere have been in no way curtailed; and if war breaks out it will be for him to say if France shall enter it."

"Think you she will do so?"

" 'Tis difficult to say." The Bishop broke one horn off a croissant and popped it into his mouth. "Our honour is definitely pledged to assist Spain in the event of hostilities; but the country is much divided on the issue, and if Spain acted precipitately that might be seized upon as an excuse by us to evade our liability."

"It is my belief that for all her high tone Spain will not dare to fight unless she is certain of French backing," Roger remarked. "And it is with the object of doing all I can to prevent encouragement being given her that I am in Paris now."

"Then you may rely on my doing all in my power to aid you," de Perigord replied quickly. "France is in no position to fight a war. Sedition has played havoc with our dockyards, our ships' crews are mutinous, the troops refuse to obey their officers, and our treasury is empty. War could only spell disaster."

"I shall be most grateful for your help. But tell me: is your view that held generally?"

"Widely but, unfortunately, not generally. In the Assembly the Extreme Left is against war, and although small it represents a con­siderable part of the nation; yet by no means its most influential part. The better type of people are more patriotic, although in this case I think their patriotism misguided. They believe that France's ancient enemy is seeking to provoke a war in order that she may take advantage of our present weakness. In consequence, anti-British feeling is now very strong here; and, out of pride, the bulk of the educated classes would not hesitate to support a war policy rather than see France suffer the least humiliation."

"What of the Court?"

"The King, as usual, is vacillating. He sees the danger; hence his attempts to mediate and keep Spain and Britain from one another's throats, and thus eliminate all risk of our being drawn into the quarrel. On the other hand he is being hard pressed by the Extreme Right to give full support to Spain."

"Why should the Right be so belligerent?"

De Perigord gave Roger a wily smile. "They see in war the one hope left of restoring the monarchy to its ancient power. As I have just said, a great part of the nation, and all its most solid elements, are already spoiling for a fight. A patriotic war would naturally rally them round the throne. The Right argue that with France in danger discipline would at once be restored in the army and marine; and that with a war in progress it would require only a well-organized coup d’etat to replace the National Assembly with the old form of government." "Does not the Assembly see its danger?"

"The Left does, but not the Centre; and the Right is now intriguing on these lines in hopes of putting an end to the present unhappy state of affairs."

After a moment, Roger said thoughtfully: "Even if the power of the monarchy were restored in this way, it could not long exist without granting a Liberal Constitution; and knowing you secretly to be in favour of such a regime. I am somewhat puzzled to find you opposed to the only policy that offers some hope of it."

The Bishop shook his head. "Nay. I have but one interest at heart: the future welfare of my country. I am convinced that we could not wage a victorious war, and that defeat would mean our final ruin. Therefore I will be no party to this suicidal gamble."

"I see your reasoning," Roger nodded; "and admire your decision. Since that is your view, I take it that de Mirabeau, who thinks so much on the same lines as yourself, is with you ?"

"Alas, no! I would to God he were. But he is secretly advising the Court to adopt a policy that will lead to war."

"Mon Dieu!" exclaimed Roger. "I thought him near as clear-sighted as yourself, and as strongly convinced that a Franco-British alliance would prove the greatest blessing that could be granted to Europe."

"That was his view. It is still, I think, as a long-term policy. But he is now set upon taking any step, however desperate, that might lead to a restoration of the royal authority."

The Bishop pulled a stiff parchment from the pocket of his dressing-gown, and went on: "I received this no more than half an hour before your arrival. As President it will be my duty to lay it before the National Assembly today; and 'tis certain that its publication will cause the war fever that is now running through France to become acute. It is a letter from His Majesty in which he informs the Assembly that, owing to the menace which Britain's war preparations hold for France, he has ordered fourteen sail-of-the-line to be got ready for sea. It is signed by the Foreign Secretary, de Montmorin; but I know it to be the work of de Mirabeau."

"This is calamitous!" muttered Roger. "Matters have already reached a far worse pass than I had even feared they might assume several weeks hence. Can naught be done to check this influence of de Mirabeau's that has now turned out to be so malign?"

De Perigord shrugged gloomily. "I know of no way to do so. He is a very juggernaut once he has the bit between his teeth. Strange and unpalatable as such an alliance may be, it seems the only people we can count on to work for the same ends as ourselves in this emergency are Barnave, Robespierre, and the other deputies of the Extreme Left."

"But this matter of war or peace is outside the jurisdiction of the National Assembly," Roger argued. "So, even had they a majority, they would not have the power to decide the issue. You said yourself that it still lies within the Royal Prerogative. And, frankly, that is what I had hoped. My influence is little enough, but I have some small credit with the Queen. I mean to see Her Majesty, and do my utmost to persuade her to do all she can to prevent a war. 'Twas to attempt it that I returned to Paris."

"I would I had your youthful optimism," said the Bishop, with his cynical little smile, "for I would wager that in this you will do nothing with that woman." Then he added seriously: "Nevertheless, I wish you all good fortune in your efforts to save three countries from the horrors that war must bring."

For a further hour they talked of more general matters, then Roger returned to his hackney-coach and had himself driven to the Tuileries. There, he paid the man off, found his way up to the Princess de Lamballe's apartment, and sent his name in by her woman. A few minutes later the Princess received him in the salon where he had had his secret interview with Madame Marie Antoinette. It was only mid-morning, so the Princess had not yet completed her full toilette, and was wearing her beautiful golden hair unpowdered, in loose ringlets falling about her neck.

When they had exchanged greetings, he asked after the health of the Queen, and she replied: "Her Majesty's constitution is fortunately robust, but she shows signs of the great strain she has been under for the whole of the past year. Her only remaining joy lies in her children, and she gives all the time she can to teaching or playing with them."

He then asked if the Princess could arrange an audience for him on a secret matter; and when he stressed its urgency and importance she left him to go down to the floor below by the staircase hidden in the wall of her bedroom. After about ten minutes she rejoined him, and said:

"Her Majesty is now so closely watched that she has to be careful to give such audiences only at times when she is unlikely to be missed from her apartments; but she will receive you for a few moments if you will return here at six o'clock tomorrow evening."

Having thanked her, he left the Palace by its garden entrance. Seeing a small crowd in one corner of it he strolled over to ascertain the object of their interest. It was the little Dauphin, with Madame de Tourzel, and he was digging in his garden plot.

He was now a handsome, well-grown child of five with a gay and friendly nature. His garden was his principal joy and while he worked in it every day he entered into cheerful conversation with the bystanders, always giving away to them his few flowers as they became ready for picking. Madame de Tourzel told Roger that to see him at work had become one of the sights of Paris, and that when the generous child gave away his flowers he often apologized to the people that he could not give flowers to them all, as he would have done had he still had his much larger garden at Versailles.

That night Roger went to the Jacobin Club, and it proved to be a hectic session. The announcement in the National Assembly, earlier in the day, that the King had ordered fourteen sail-of-the-line to be prepared for immediate service had brought sudden realization that France now really stood on the brink of war. There were bitter denuncia­tions of both England and Spain, but a general determination to fight, although a few speakers expressed the opinion that the King ought not to be allowed to give the word for hostilities to begin without first consulting the National Assembly.

At six o'clock on the Saturday evening Roger, a little nervous at the most unorthodox step he was taking, but feeling it more than ever justified by the rapid and menacing march of events, was in the Princess de Lamballe's apartment bowing over the hand that Madame Marie Antoinette graciously extended to him.

After he had kissed it she sat down in an elbow chair and motioned him to another. "Madame," he demurred. "You do me too much honour."

She smiled a little sadly. "Nay, Mr. Brook. The honours we have to bestow in these days are all too few; and we have been learning fast that friendship deserves them far more than rank. Tell me now, what led you to seek this private conversation?"

Roger produced Mr. Pitt's Letter of Marque, and handed it to her with a bow. She read it, handed it back to him, and gave him a thought­ful glance. "I was not aware that you were in the service of your Government."

"Madame, I have been so for some time. But may it please Your Majesty to recall that being so has never deterred me from doing my utmost to be of service to you."

"Monsieur, I recall it well, and my presence here is an earnest of the regard I have for you. I am certain that you would never say or do aught which you did not believe to be in my interest or that of the King; so you may speak freely of all you have in mind."

Roger then launched out on the subject he had come upon. Few people were now better acquainted with the genesis and development of the Nootka Sound dispute, and he had the gift of marshalling facts with point and fluency. He told her frankly that he had just come from Spain, and that in spite of Count Florida Blanca's dismissal of him he was still convinced that the Spaniards would not go to war unless they felt certain that they could rely on French backing; and he assured her that Mr. Pitt's dearest wish was to preserve the peace of Europe.

At that her eyebrows lifted. "Monsieur, your Prime Minister's words and acts do not conform to what you tell me. He is now openly preparing with all speed for war."

"Madame." He spread out his hands. "I do give you my most solemn assurance that these preparations are being taken solely in answer to those known to be going forward in Spain. We have no wish for war, but cannot allow the insult done to the British flag to pass. All might yet be well, and an accommodation be reached, if only France will stand aside; but these recent measures of His Most Christian Majesty can serve only to encourage the Spaniards in their preparations, and if continued must result in an explosion."

She shook her head. "His Majesty's having yesterday ordered a fleet to sea is the direct outcome of Mr. Pitt having five days ago required your Parliament to vote a million for war purposes."

"Madame, I beg you to believe me that Mr. Pitt's measure was taken solely in accordance with his policy of showing the Spaniards that we mean business if they force us to it; and was in no way aimed at France."

"You seem to forget, Monsieur, that France is Spain's ally and any measure taken against one must equally be a threat to the other."

Swiftly Roger changed his ground and strove to impress upon her how disastrous a war would prove for France in her present state; but the Queen replied a trifle haughtily:

"You would be very wrong to suppose, Monsieur, that the dis­turbances of the past year have in any way lessened the courage of the French people, or affected their loyalty to their country."

Roger quickly agreed with her; then, after a moment, he took his courage in both hands and said: "I trust you will forgive me, Madame, if I remark that certain people, who hold the restoration of His Majesty's authority a matter of more paramount importance than all else, are credited with pressing a war policy upon His Majesty, in the belief that the emergencies of war would enable him to dispense with the National Assembly."

The Queen stood up. "Monsieur," she said coldly. "His Majesty and I are well aware of the horrors and distresses that war inflicts upon any people who engage in it. And never would we be guilty of plunging France into war for our own selfish interests. At this very moment the King is doing his utmost to mediate between the Courts of London and Madrid, in the hope of arranging a peaceful solution between them."

Roger had come to his feet with the Queen; now he went down on one knee before her. "I humbly crave Your Majesty's pardon; but what hopes can be placed in such mediation while His Majesty encour­ages the Spaniards by such acts as ordering a fleet to sea ? I implore you, Madame, to use your great influence in the interests of peace, and dis­suade His Majesty from all further measures of a provocative nature."

"Rise, Monsieur," said the Queen. "I have listened patiently to all you have to say, and I fear that no useful purpose can be served by prolonging this conversation. You may rest assured that the King and I would never countenance a war unless we were forced to it; and that the preparations now going forward are no more than reasonable precautions. But we are allied to Spain, and if Spain decides to fight, France must fight too. It is unthinkable that we should do otherwise, for our honour is involved in it."

With the bitter knowledge that he had failed, Roger bowed very low, and said quietly: "So be it, Your Majesty. I am distressed beyond words to find that I cannot count upon your help; and I can only beg that you will not think too hardly of me, should you learn that in the cause of peace I have sought other allies."

Five minutes later he was out in the courtyard. The "other allies" to whom he had referred were the deputies of the Extreme Left. But he knew none of them except Barnave; to them he could not possibly produce Mr. Pitt's Letter of Marque, and even if he got in touch with them he did not feel that either he or they could do very much to influence the situation. The idea was the slenderest of forlorn hopes, and he had been stung into his last words to the Queen owing only to his anger at her blindness, in refusing to see that the best hope of averting war lay in France refraining from further warlike measures.

As he stood on the steps of the court endeavouring to decide on his next move,' a coach drove up. The footmen jumped down from the box and opened its door. A lady got out. They were face to face. He found himself staring at Isabella.

When he had decided in Aranjuez to come to Paris he had realized with considerable misgivings that he might meet her again there. But he could not allow that to weigh with him in the scales against the possibility of still being able to prevent a war. Paris was a large city, he had counted on securing an audience with the Queen within a week, and it had seemed then that once he had obtained her answer there would be nothing further to detain him in France; so he had felt reason­ably confident that he would escape further entanglement with the lovely Condesa who had once meant so much to him. Now, Fate had brought them together yet again.

"Rojé!’ her glad cry rang through the court. "When did you reach Paris? How clever of you to guess that I should not waste an hour before coming to the Tuileries! But to find you here waiting for me! Oh, Rojé, I am overcome with joy! I . . . I . . ." Seizing his hands she burst into tears.

Her assumption that he had come hot-foot to Paris for the sole purpose of reuniting with her there was so transparently obvious that he had not the heart to undeceive her, and he took refuge in garbled half-truths mingled with white lies.

"I got here yesterday, thinking you must have already arrived. Today business brought me to the Palace; but I should have come here in any case, as the best place to get news of you. In that I was disappointed, and I could not imagine why you had not yet been to make your service to the Queen. I did my utmost to catch up with you, and 'tis now evident that I must have passed you on the road."

"No matter," she sobbed happily. "No matter; we are together again, and 'twill be easy here for us to slip away so that we may be so always."

He swallowed hard, then muttered: "HushI Have a care of what you say; and control yourself, I beg. Your servants are listening."

She shook her head. "We need take no heed of them. They are not from the Spanish Embassy, but only hired men. Diego is there, and the Lady Georgina and her father with him. But I went straight to the Carmelites. The Mother Superior is an old friend of mine, and I knew that I could count on her to give me refuge."

"Refuge?" repeated Roger. "But why, having passed a month with your husband on the road, should you feel this sudden need of it?"

"While on the road I was safe; now I am once more in mortal danger. But I must not linger. Her Majesty is expecting me. And I cannot ask you to come to me this evening, for no visitors are allowed in the Convent after sundown. Come to me at eleven o'clock tomorrow morning at the Carmelites. Then we can make our plans."

In a daze, Roger kissed her hand and watched her enter the Palace. Then he slowly turned away, walked back to La Belle Etoile, mechani­cally ate a solitary evening meal and went early to bed.

For a long time he lay there staring up at the ceiling. He recalled another occasion when he had lain in bed thinking about Isabella. That had been twelve and a half months ago, at a less comfortable inn, near Les Gobelins, on the far side of the Seine. He was then about to set out for Florence with Madame Marie Antoinette's letter, and he had barely made the acquaintance of the dark-browed Senorita d'Aranda.

How much had happened since then, the States General had not even met. Lettres de cachet were still issued for the imprisonment of people during His Majesty's pleasure; and there still existed a Bastille in which to confine them. The de Polignacs, the de Coignys; their High­nesses d'Artois, de Conde, de Conti, and a host of others had still danced and gambled in the splendid salons of Versailles. The treacherous Due d'Orleans had been the idol of the Paris mob; and none but a few rough seamen and Red Indians even knew of the existence of a place called Nootka Sound.

Roger had never then been to Avignon, Marseilles, Leghorn, Florence, Naples, Lisbon, Madrid or Aranjuez; and he recalled speculat­ing on whether, had Isabella been remaining at the Court of France, and they had entered on an affaire, he would have been able to make her his mistress. He had been inclined to think it most unlikely, because he believed her to be a serious, intense girl who, when she gave herself, would do so with great passion, but would bring herself to it only with a man with whom she hoped to share a lifelong love. Now he knew.

There was nothing to stop him leaving Paris next day for England. Mr. Pitt had not sent him to France and would certainly be much annoyed with him for having gone there. He had shot his bolt with the Queen in vain, and if he stayed on to enter into some almost hopeless intrigue with the deputies of the Extreme Left his master would have more cause for anger with him than ever. It would probably wreck his career for the second and last time.

Yet he knew that he was going to stay on; both because, having already adopted unorthodox means in the hope of being able to fulfil his mission, he would not give up the game as long as there was a card left in the pack; and because, since Isabella now felt her danger to be so acute as to have left her husband on account of it, and life for her held no future except with him, he could not possibly abandon her.

At eleven o'clock next morning she joined him in the visitors' parlour at the Carmelite Convent. It was a bare, sparsely furnished room, the antithesis of the surroundings that any couple would have chosen to make love in; and they did not attempt it.

After they had spent a few moments saying how happy they were to be reunited once more, Roger said: "Tell me, my love, why you have sought this retreat. Have you recently had fresh evidence of your husband's intention to poison you?"

"Nay," she shook her head. "But circumstances have altered. Had I not pretended a sudden fit of religion during the last stages of our journey, and insisted that I must make a novena here immediately on my arrival in Paris, I might be dead by now."

"I must confess to still having doubts that his intentions are so evil," Roger told her. "For the past month I have been racked with anxiety for your safety. My ultimate reasoning led me to conclude that if Don Diego meant to rid himself of you he would do so while you were travelling, preferably far from a town, at some small inn where the odds would have been all against any serious enquiry into your death being made. Moreover, had he done so he would then have reached Paris a free man, and been able to offer himself to the Lady Georgina before any question could arise of her leaving for England. Whereas now ..."

"No, you do not understand!" she cut him short. "However black any man's thoughts, he would incline to put off so terrible a deed until the last extremity. Diego believed that Lady Etheredge was willing to spend several weeks in Paris. Perhaps she would have been, but for the fact that she is now pursued by a new admirer, and he an Englishman who is pressing her to return home in his company at an early date."

"Who is he?" asked Roger with quick interest. "And what type of man?"

"He is the Earl of St, Ermins; and he is young, rich and handsome. We met him at Tours. He was engaged on a leisurely progress round the historic chateaux of the Loire; but he abandoned it, and joining his coach to our cavalcade accompanied us on the last stages to Paris. Each day Diego became more green with jealousy. By the time we reached the capital he was near desperate. Had I lodged with him at the Spanish Embassy, I vow that within the next few days he would have taken any gamble to rid himself of me; so that he might declare himself, rather than see Lady Etheredge leave for England with his rival."

"I will admit that puts a very different complexion on the matter," Roger agreed. "But, thank God, you will be safe from him here until I can make arrangements to take you away with me."

She smiled. "There is naught for which to wait, I saw Her Majesty last night, and she gave me every assurance in connection with Diego's mission that I could desire. I wrote him to that effect first thing this morning. Maria I had to leave behind at the Embassy, but I could send money to her and instructions how to join us later. Quetzal is here with me now, as I arranged for him to sleep in the gardener's lodge. There is at last, my dearest love, no reason left to prevent us taking the road to happiness together, tomorrow."

"I fear there is still one," he demurred. "Having come to Paris, I took the opportunity yesterday to raise certain questions with the Govern­ment in connection with work upon which I am engaged; so I could hardly leave now without making some attempt to complete this business satisfactorily."

"What is this work of yours?" she asked with a frown. "You made only the vaguest references to it in Aranjuez, so the thought of it passed entirely from my mind until Quetzal caught us up in Madrid, and gave it as your reason for not joining us on the pretext I had suggested."

"It is the agreement of certain navigational rights between several countries," Roger replied quietly. "For some time past I have been asked by my Government, when travelling here, and there, to settle such questions to the best of my ability."

She shrugged. "Surely such matters are of very minor importance.

Can you not take me to England without delay, and get your Govern­ment to instruct their Consul here to conclude the negotiations in your stead?"

"Seeing that I started the ball rolling myself, I fear that might be taken very ill. But I think my business will be settled one way or the other within the next few days. So we could get away by the end of the week."

"Ah well," she sighed. " 'Tis a disappointment after the happy dreams I had last night; but since we have waited for one another for so long, and you require only so short a period, I will endeavour not to show too great an impatience."

For the better part of two hours they talked of the retired but happy life they proposed to lead in England; then, as he was about to leave her, she asked when he would visit her again.

"In view of our projected elopement it might be unwise for us to court suspicion by my coming here too frequently," he answered cautiously. "Let us leave it till Wednesday. I will come in the morning at ten o'clock and, with luck, by then I shall be in a position to fix a time for our departure."

When he had left her he was glad that he had not committed himself to a series of visits. He had found their long talk in that bare, cold room a considerable strain; but he hoped and believed that matters would be very different once they could get away, as there would be the excite­ment of the elopement and the brighter prospect of all the new interests of their life together.

That afternoon he went to the Spanish Embassy to call upon Georgina, but she was out, so he left a message that he would wait upon her the following morning. In the evening he went again to the Jacobins, and listened for four hours to the heated speeches of the members. The immediate crisis now seemed to have become submerged in the general question whether the right to make peace or war at any time should remain in the hands of the King; and the speakers of the Extreme Left were urging that he should be deprived of the power to do do by a clause in the new Constitution.

On the Monday morning at eleven o'clock Roger was shown up to the salon on the first floor of the Spanish Embassy. He found Georgina with her hostess, the Condesa Fernanunez, so for a while their con­versation had to remain impersonal. The war scare was naturally men­tioned and the Condesa complained unhappily about the situation of the Embassy. Unlike most of the great hotels in Paris, which were built round a courtyard with gates that could be closed in an emergency, the Spanish Embassy had all its principal rooms facing on the street. As Roger had noticed on his arrival, there was a little group of ugly-looking loiterers outside; and the Condesa said that since the trouble had started such groups had collected each day, often increasing to large proportions whenever the situation appeared to worsen, and sometimes demonstrat­ing in the most threatening fashion against the Embassy and its Spanish inmates.

Roger duly commiserated with her on this unpleasantness and said he hoped the crisis would soon pass; then, after they had touched upon various other matters, the Condesa, seeing that Georgina and her visitor wished to be alone, tactfully made an excuse to leave them.

The moment the door had closed behind her, Georgina burst out: "Oh, Roger, Roger! What madness has possessed you that you are come to Paris? When you did not join us with little Quetzal in Madrid I counted you saved from your own folly, and long since this happily back in England."

"I had to come here," he replied, "though I fear now that I can do little good. 'Twas work in connection with the crisis that brought me."

"God be praised for that!" she exclaimed. "I feared that you still felt yourself committed to the Condesa Isabella. By a merciful Providence she has taken herself off to a convent, so 'tis unlikely you will meet her."

"I have already done so. I came face to face with her on Saturday evening at the Tuileries, as she was about to wait upon the Queen; and I visited her yesterday at the Carmelites."

"What say you? Oh, Roger!" Georgina's big dark eyes filled with tears. "I would have cut off my right hand rather than that you should have fallen into the clutches of that designing woman yet again."

"Georgina, you are unjust to her," he retorted quickly. "It is more than I could hope that you should make a real friend of anyone so intense and serious-minded; but she is an honest, sweet-natured creature, who asks nothing more than to devote her whole life to me. How can I possibly abandon her, when her own life is in such dire jeopardy that she has been forced to take refuge in a convent?"

"Stuff and nonsense!" cried Georgina angrily. "That wicked snare she laid for you concerning Don Diego's intent to poison her was fully exploded by our journey to Paris. I never did believe one word of it. Had he ever had a mind to such a crime he would have rid himself of her in his own country and house, where he would have had a good chance to conceal the manner of her death; or at some lonely inn on the road to Paris; not waited till he arrived here, where 'tis certain that a close enquiry into her sudden death would certainly result."

"I thought that, too," Roger agreed more mildly. "But she argues that any man would postpone so terrible an act while he still had hopes of achieving his ends by other means."

"You infer that had I been willing to let him become my lover he would no longer have had the same motive to wish to rid himself of his wife?"

Roger nodded.

She smiled a little ruefully. "Then, my dear, disabuse your mind of that idea. I had promised myself to remain chaste until the summer. But I felt that lest there might truly be something in this poison plot, it was little short of my duty to remove the alleged cause for it. I knew that you would never ask me to play the part of Sara Goudar for you, so I did it of my own account. I let Diego have his way with me before we left Aranjuez, and again several times on our journey."

" 'Twas prodigious generous of you."

Georgina shrugged. "Since I have taken lovers before for my own amusement, and 'twas inferred that the Condesa's life hung upon it, I could hardly do less. And, that apart, I do not think I was born with so hard a heart as to have left the poor man for good without granting him some recompense for his many weeks' assiduous attendance on me. But the Condesa's contention, that once he has taken his pleasure of a woman his ardour for her cools, has no foundation; at least in this case, as he has become madder for me than ever."

"If that is so," said Roger thoughtfully, "the motive still remains. He knows that you have it in mind to marry again, and in taking steps to free himself, so that he may offer you his hand, lies his only hope of binding you to him."

"That I admit; but I do not believe for one moment that he would commit murder; even were I a Lady Macbeth and urged him to it with a promise that I would marry him if he did. The fits of sombre intro­spection from which he suffers at times does not affect the fact that he is a man of the highest principles."

"Even so, at the thought of losing you, his morbid nature might drive him to it. And I gather that you now intend to leave him very shortly."

"Yes; we depart first thing on Thursday morning. 'Twill be a wrench, but I have so decided. Paris is like a courtesan who overnight has become raddled from some foul disease. 'Twas a lovely city to live in not long ago, but I find it now quite hideous. No Court worth going to, no balls or routs; my gay and gallant friends all fled abroad, the shop-people and servants insolent, and a cut-throat mob out in the streets that shouts 'Spanish whore' at me do I but glance from a window."

Roger laughed. " 'Tis true enough that Paris is no place for you in these days, my poppet. But I also gather that you have acquired the means to console yourself on the way home for the loss of Don Diego."

Her face brightened. "So the Condesa told you of Charles, eh?"

"If Charles is my lord St. Ermins she did indeed. And 'twas his appearance on the scene that led her to fear Don Diego's jealousy might culminate in her murder."

"Oh, drat the woman! She is but making further capital out of a circumstance that might have occurred to any group of travellers. Papa used to stay with Charles's father and knew Charles when he was a boy at Eton. What could be more natural than that he should decide to travel home with us? That he swiftly became attentive to myself, I'll not deny; but seeing that my face is something better than a currant bun, and he a fine vigorous fellow of twenty-five, I would have been much amazed had it been otherwise. But blowing Diego's temper I vow to you I took every possible precaution to avoid giving him cause for complaint. Indeed, so little encouragement did I give my lord that I would have accounted it no great surprise had I lost him."

"Am I to take it that you would have been loath to do so ?"

"Why, yes," Georgina smiled. "To be faithful, although I have not shown it yet, I am more than a little smitten with him. He is gay, good-hearted, intelligent and well read. In fact he has much of his great-great-grandfather in him; for as you'll know the first earl of the name was one of the numerous sons begot by King Charles II on the wrong side of the blanket. 'Tis a monstrous pity that his mother died in giving him birth, as had she not 'tis reasonable to suppose she would have got him a Dukedom. None the less, Charles is far from badly situated. His seat is in Northamptonshire, he has another place in Cornwall, one of those nice modern houses in Berkeley Square, and an ample fortune with which to keep them all up. But he is as fond of travel as I am, and likes to spend a part of every year abroad."

"He sounds the perfect partner for you," Roger grinned.

"I would not yet say that," she said with sudden seriousness. "I have had to be so plaguey careful not to arouse Diego's jealousy that I have so far had little opportunity to get to know Charles's real nature. But I will admit to you that I am much attracted by what I have seen of him."

"Then you are now cured of the strange fascination that Don Diego had for you ?"

"No," she replied after a moment. "I'd not go so far as that. I feel towards him quite differently. The artist in me delights in his fine presence, his courtly manners and that marvellous profile of his; yet he has never succeeded in making me desire him. Do not laugh, Roger, for I mean this. To me he is in some sort like a beautiful grown-up child, and whenever I think of him in the future it will be with something of a mother's affection."

"I think I understand," he nodded; then he stood up. "Will you forgive me if I go now? 'Tis important that I should not miss today's debate in the Assembly."

She began to assure him again that Isabella was acting a part in order to ensnare him, and beg him to break free from his entanglement, but with an upraised hand he checked her.

"I pray you say no more on this, for it can serve only to distress us both. I think with you that her fears are groundless, but I would swear to it that she honestly believes herself to be in great danger, and things must now take their course for good or ill." Then he promised to call on Wednesday afternoon to wish her bon voyage, and left her.

At the Assembly he learned that the debate on the Spanish alliance had been postponed for two days; but at the Jacobins that night the question of the King's right to enter into treaties without the consent of the nation was the prime subject of the debate.

On the previous evening Roger had asked Barnave to introduce him to Alexander Lameth, Petion, Robespierre and several other of his colleagues of the Extreme Left; so he was now able to move round among the tables where the members sat drinking as they listened to the orators, and get in conversation with these men again.

Lameth and his brothers were renegades, for they were of gentle birth and had been brought up as proteges of the Queen, at her expense. Petion was a big, coarse, forceful man, and Robespierre a prim little lawyer from Arras. The latter was an out-and-out Republican; and of such rigid principles that on having been appointed a criminal judge, through the influence of a Bishop who was a friend of his family, he had laid down the office rather than pass a death sentence, because it was against his conscience. He had an awkward, provincial manner of speak­ing and was not at all popular among his colleagues; but he had gained their respect by his integrity and his uncompromising hatred of every­thing connected with the old order. .

Roger was talking to him and Dupont, another prominent deputy of the Left, when a fattish, square-faced man of about forty came up, greeted the other two as acquaintances, and asked him if they might have a word apart Somewhat mystified, Roger left his companions and accompanied the stranger to a quiet corner under the gallery. The fat man then addressed him in English.

"You are Mr. Roger Brook, are you not?"

"I am, sir," Roger replied. "And I judge from your voice that you are a fellow countryman."

The other bowed. "My name is Miles, sir. William Augustus Miles, at your service. Mayhap the master whom we both have the honour to serve has mentioned me to you."

Fearing a trap, Roger answered with a shake of his head: "I fear, sir, you have mistaken me for another. I am a travelling journalist and owe no allegience to any particular master."

Mr. Miles nodded sagely. "You are right in exercising caution, but you have no need to do so with myself. I bear a message to you from Lord Robert Fitz-Gerald."

Roger's eyes narrowed. "Indeed, sir?"

"Yes. His lordship is much perturbed by your presence and activi­ties in Paris. At the Sunday reception of the Diplomatic Corps the Queen had a word aside with him about your visit to her. His lordship's view is that such an unorthodox approach to the Royal Family is calculated to do the gravest harm. Moreover you have no business to be in Paris at all. I was sent here to replace you. I am instructed to bid you return to England forthwith."

To Roger, his successor's words were a body-blow. He could attach no blame to the Queen for having mentioned the audience she had given him to Lord Robert, as in showing her Mr. Pitt's Letter of Marque he had posed as an official representative of his country. He had let him­self in for serious trouble, there was no doubt of that. After a moment he said in a low voice:

"Kindly convey my respects to his lordship, sir, and inform him that I shall be leaving for England shortly." Then he bowed and returned to his table.

Next day he felt more perturbed than ever by the episode. He was not responsible to Lord Robert for his acts, or under the orders of the Embassy. But it was certain now that his unsuccessful attempt to in­fluence the Queen would be reported, and if he ignored the message he had received from Miles to return to England at once, since it came from an official source, that would gravely aggravate his offence. On further consideration he decided that his conduct would in any case determine Mr. Pitt to dispense with his services once and for all, so he might as well be hanged for a sheep as a lamb and stay on a few days longer in Paris.

But when he went to the Jacobin Club that Tuesday evening his heart was heavy as lead. He knew that short of two miracles his career as a secret agent was ended, and that next day he must make arrange­ments to take Isabella to England.

The very first person he ran into on entering the Club was William Augustus Miles, who greeted him with a lift of the eyebrows and said:

"After conveying Lord Robert's message to you last night, sir, I am much surprised to see you here."

"I have private business in Paris which still requires my attention,' replied Roger coldly. "So I shall leave when I see fit, sir; and not before."

"Oh, come!" protested Mr. Miles. "By ignoring his lordship's order you will only make worse the difficult situation in which you have placed yourself. On Thursday morning I am returning to England myself, to make a personal report on the situation to you-know-who. Why not come with me?"

As Roger did not immediately reply, he added patronizingly: "He has a very high opinion of my judgment; and if you return under my wing, I will do what I can to mitigate the displeasure with which 'tis certain he will receive you."

Roger shook his head. "I thank you, sir, for the offer of your good offices. But I will account for my actions to him who gave me my orders alone, and in my own good time."

On leaving Mr. Miles Roger sought out Barnave, and put to him the project for which he had been endeavouring to lay the ground-work during the past few nights. He knew that if only he were given the chance to speak upon the Spanish question, he could do so with fluency and point. He had a number of things to say that had not yet been said, which he felt might strongly appeal to the deputies of the Extreme Left, and bring over to them some of their less radical col­leagues in their struggle to put a check on the power of the King to declare war.

The good-looking young lawyer listened to his proposal with interest but vetoed it. "Mon ami," he said. "It is true in theory that anyone who has been accepted as a member here has the right to address the meeting; but in practice they have to get themselves a hearing. I know you as an English journalist of sound Liberal opinions, but that is not enough. You have made no contribution towards the Revolution either by writings published in France or by deeds. Your countrymen were most popular here as speakers up to a month or so ago; but now, the very fact that you are an Englishman would damn you from the start. You would be howled down for a certainty. It might even be thought that you were a spy of Mr. Pitt's, who was endeavouring to influence us against our true interests, and you would then find your­self in grave danger of a lynching. Since you have no qualifications as a true Revolutionary, what you suggest is absolutely out of the question."

With his last hope gone, Roger had to sit there listening to Mirabeau arguing in sonorous, well-reasoned phrases that popular assemblies were subject to the same passions as Kings, and not subject to any responsibility as were Ministers; that if one country was prepar­ing fast for war it was madness for another, against whom those prepara­tions were aimed, to waste weeks while hundreds of its citizens of all shades of opinion argued whether counter-preparations were to be made or not; that for a country that was attacked, either itself or through its allies, to await the word of the representatives of the whole nation before drawing the sword in its own defence, was suicidal; and that in consequence it was sheer lunacy to suggest that such powers should not remain vested in the King.

At a little before noon next day Roger was hurrying towards the Spanish Embassy. A sullen, muttering crowd of some two hundred people was gathered in the street in front of it, but he pushed his way through them and ignored the insults they shouted after him as, seeing him run up the steps of its porch, they took him for a Spaniard.

When the door was answered by a footman, he asked gruffly if Don Diego was in. On the man replying that he was not, Roger thrust the astonished servant aside, dashed up the stairs and burst into the salon.

Georgina and the Condesa Fernanunez were sitting there. Both of them started up from their chairs at his precipitate entrance, and stared at him with startled eyes.

He was white as a sheet, breathless and trembling. After standing rigid for a moment he gasped out:

"Where is he? Where is Don Diego? I must see him at once!"

"You know?" Georgina's voice came in a hoarse whisper. "You have heard?"

He nodded. "Where is he? I tell you I must see himl Don't dare to hide him from me. I want the truth."

"He is not here," she faltered. "He has gone out. We expect him back at any moment. But Roger; I beg you control yourself. It was no-fault of his. 'Twas the mob ..."

With a set face he strode past her, through the french windows-and out on to the balcony. As he appeared he was greeted with cat­calls, hisses and insults from the crowd below.

Georgina ran after him and clutched his arm from behind. "Roger, Roger! Are you gone crazy to act like this? 'Tis terrible, I know. Wha could guess that such an awful thing would happen; even with Paris in the state it is. But Diego is as innocent in this as myself. I implore - you to come in and let me do what I can to calm your distraught mind."

Without a word in reply he tore his arm from her grasp. He had suddenly seen Don Diego coming up the street and just entering the fringe of the crowd

He waited for another minute, then, leaning over the ironwork of the balcony, he thrust out his arm. Pointing it at the Spaniard, he cried at the top of his voice:

"Seize him! Seize him! That is Don Diego Sidonia y Ulloa! He is the Spanish Envoy who has been sent from Spain to drag France into war! He is an intriguing aristocrat and the enemy of you all! With Spanish soldiers at his back he plans to rebuild the Bastille, A la Lanterne! A la Lanterne! A la Lanterne!"

For a heart-beat the mob was surprised into complete silence. Then with a howl of hate and rage it flung itself upon the wretched man he had denounced.

"Roger!" Georgina's cry was a wail of mingled amazement, anger and horror. "Roger, you are in truth gone mad! Stop them! Stop them! Oh, my God! My God!"

Thrusting her away from him, Roger kept his eyes fixed upon the terrible scene below. For a few moments Don Diego disappeared from view as his body was kicked and trampled on by the bloodthirsty sans­culottes; then, torn and bleeding, it was forced up again. Some of the ruffians had run to the nearest lamp-post, hauled down the lamp and detached it from the rope. Next minute the rope was about Don Diego's still-writhing neck. A score of hands grasped the free end and hauled upon it. The battered body was hoisted high above the crowd for all to see, and a yell of savage glee echoed down the street;

Roger loosened his sword in its scabbard, ready to fight his way out of the Embassy if the servants attempted to prevent his leaving.

Georgina was still standing beside him, frozen dumb with horror. He turned his bloodshot eyes upon her, and said hoarsely:

"I deeply regret this on your account. But it was an act of justice."

Suddenly she clenched her fist. Then she struck him again and again in the face, as she screamed: "I will never forgive you for this! Never! Never! You beast! You brute! You swine!"

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

THREE KINDS OF WINE

ONE week later, on Wednesday the 26th of May, at a quarter-past six in the evening, Roger was at No. io Downing Street and in the presence of his master.

Mr. Pitt sat behind his table. It was littered with papers and, as usual, there stood on it a decanter of Port with some glasses, from one of which he was drinking. But he had not offered Roger a glass or asked him to sit down; although he was standing there tired, dusty and travel-stained, just as he had come from Dover.

The Prime Minister's thin, worn face was even graver than its wont, and when he spoke his voice held all the chill vigour and cutting scorn with which at times he crushed his opponents in the House.

"Mr. Brook. That you should have the impudence to show your face here, I find a matter for amazement. But your having done so will spare me the necessity of sending for you at some future date, to require you to return to me the Letter of Marque with which I fur­nished you when last we met; and to inform you that should you at any future time represent yourself as an agent of the British Crown, you will do so at your dire peril.

"Two years ago I believed you to be a young man of great promise, but my judgment was sadly at fault. You must be aware that your reports are very far from being my only source of information regard­ing what takes place on the Continent; and when I last had the occa­sion to reprove you I spared you the full disclosure of my knowledge. For the past thirteen months I have been following your activities with ever-increasing disapproval and ever-decreasing lack of faith in your ability—or even loyalty.

"In the spring of '89 you left your post in Paris ostensibly to get into the good graces of the Queen of France. But I later learned that the prime cause of your departure was to accompany one of her Maids of Honour to Italy. There, only the intervention of the young woman's family prevented your eloping with her and thus provoking a first-class scandal.

"In the autumn you again left your post; this time without even notifying me of your intentions. You simply decamped, leaving me for a month without what I then considered a valuable source of in­formation on events in Paris. In due course I learned that you journeyed to Naples to renew your love affair in the absence of the lady's husband.

"On your belated return you had nothing to report but the failure of another mission, which you say you undertook for the Queen of France. You then proceeded to involve yourself with the reactionary intriguers who surround her, and entered into a pact with that dangerous and unscrupulous apostate, Monsieur de Talleyrand-Perigord. I re­called you, in order to get you out of the clutches of these most un­desirable people, and offered you another mission in a field that I con­sidered might prove more suited to you. But, in the place where I thought I could use you to advantage, you refuse to serve me.

"In March, to seek out the woman who has bedevilled you, as I am now informed, you decide to go off to Madrid; but first you make your peace with me and, when I reinstate you, give me your solemn assurance that you will place the King's business before all else. In­stead, with the object of getting your mistress to Paris, where you could pursue your intrigue with her more easily than in the rigid atmosphere of the Spanish Court, you persuade King Carlos to send her husband on a mission to France—utterly regardless of the fact that the object of that mission was to strengthen the alliance between France and Spain.

"From that point I can only attribute your acts to a lesion of the brain. It is not enough that in the Spanish affair you have betrayed your country's interests for your personal ends. You abuse my con­fidence in the most shameful manner, by using the Letter of Marque

I gave you in a way that you knew I never had the remotest intention of its being used. Without one tittle of authority you give yourself the pretensions of a Minister Plenipotentiary accredited to the Court of France. Then, some further aberration of the brain leads you to throw away such influence as you have acquired with the Queen of France by openly espousing the cause of the Revolutionaries.

"In defiance of my Lord Robert Fitz-Gerald's order you remain in Paris, and consort with the demagogues at the Jacobin Club. You next bring about the foul and brutal murder of your mistress' husband by the mob. Then you go to the Jacobins and proceed publicly to glorify your abominable act. You proclaim yourself the enemy of all Kings, including your own, and incite these bloodthirsty terrorists to further acts of violence.

"Had you committed your crime in England, justice would have seen that you hanged for it; and I warn you, should the French Govern­ment ask for your extradition to call you to account for it in Paris, I intend to give you up to them."

As the cold, hard voice of the Prime Minister ceased, Roger gave a weary shrug, and said:

"I admit many things with which you charge me, sir; upon others I am prepared to defend myself. How long is it since you had news out of France?"

Mr. Pitt frowned. "I have heard nothing since Saturday; when my agent arrived with the tale of your infamies. Owing to bad weather in the Channel no packet boat left after his until the one from which you must have landed this morning."

"Then you will not have heard the result of the sittings of the National Assembly on the twenty-first and twenty-second."

"No. What of them?"

"Only that another great blow has been struck against the Royal Prerogative, by the passing of a new Revolutionary measure that I inspired."

"And you have the insolence to announce this to me as a matter of which you can be proud?"

"I do. The manner of Don Diego Sidonia y Ulloa's death is a matter that lies only between myself and God. Let it suffice that by seizing the opportunity to denounce him when I did I gained the end I had in mind. To save myself from arrest I placed myself under the protection of the Jacobin Club. It was voted that he was an enemy of the people, and that by my act I had served their cause in putting a swift end to his intrigues to drag France into war. You need not con­cern yourself about any request for my extradition. There will be none. No French official would dare to lay a finger on me; for in Paris I am acclaimed a national hero.

"That night I spoke in the Jacobins as has been reported to you by your ineffectual creature Miles. I spoke again the following night, and yet again the night after that. I declared myself the bitter enemy of monarchy in all its forms, and the Jacobins hung upon my words. In the matter of Nootka Sound I urged them to repudiate the Spanish alliance. I said that it was made by two effete Royal Families for their own aggrandizement, without thought of the horrors that war brings to the common people. I argued that no treaty was binding upon a nation unless it had been entered into with the full knowledge and assent of the people's representatives. I demanded that all existing treaties should be declared null and void, and that in future France should consider herself bound only by treaties made by the nation.

"What the Jacobins decide by night now becomes law in the National Assembly the following day. Mirabeau attempted to sway the Club against me, but he was howled down; Desmoulins, Lameth, Robespierre, Dupont, Petion, all supported me. And Mirabeau was again defeated in the debates that followed in the Assembly, by Barnave using my arguments against him.

"I have betrayed the Queen and all my better instincts. I caused a man to be done to death in a manner that will trouble my soul for years to come. I brought about the death of a woman who was very dear to me by remaining on in Paris, when I might have come away with her ten days ago. I have lost a friendship that I value more than life itself. And all this as the price of getting a hearing in the Jacobin Club. I have branded myself as a sans-culotte—a brutal murderer from whom all decent people will shrink. But I have served you and England well.

"You can cancel your preparations in the ports and demobilize your levees. On your own word Spain will not fight alone; so there will be no war. A year ago you asked me to devise means which might assist you to break the Family Compact. I have broken it for you. On Saturday the twenty-second, by the law of France, it was declared null and void. It is as dead as yesterday's sheep that is now mutton. More; without resorting to war, I have made possible your dream, that all Canada, from the Atlantic to the Pacific, should henceforth become a dominion of the British Crown."

Mr. Pitt remained quite silent for a moment, then he said: "Mr. Brook. I owe you an apology. I—er—omitted to offer you a glass of Port."

When Roger left No. 10 Downing Street dusk was falling. A few yards from the entrance a closed carriage was drawn up. As he walked past it a voice that he knew well called him by name. Turning he saw Georgina's lovely face framed in the carriage window. Beckoning to him she threw open the door. After only a second's hesitation he got in, slammed it behind him and sat down beside her. As he did so the carriage drove off.

After an awkward pause, he asked: "How comes it that you knew I had returned to London?"

"I had word from Droopy Ned," she answered in a low voice. "As soon as Papa and I got back I asked Droopy to let me know the instant that you arrived. He sent me a message an hour ago that you had dropped your baggage at Amesbury House and gone on to Downing Street."

Again there was a long, strained silence; then she said with a sob: "Oh Roger 1 All this past week I have been near dead of grief."

He turned away his face. "I know how bitterly you must feel, but I beg you to spare, me your reproaches. The memory of that awful scene and the manner in which I brought about his death is as much as I can bear."

"Nay," she replied quickly. "Fond as I was of him, it was not his death that has driven me half-crazy. 'Twas the thought of the breach between us. You are so much a part of me that I could not reconcile myself to cutting you from my life without an attempt at explanation. I had to find out if you had some shadow of justification for the awful thing you did, or if I am condemned to regard you henceforth as a monster. Why did you do it, Roger? Why?"

"It is a long story," he murmured. "But I too have been more distressed by your threat never to forgive me than all else put to­gether. Where can we go to talk alone in comfort?"

"I am taking you to my studio on Campden Hill. I must know the truth, and whether after tonight I may ever look you in the face again without a shudder. Let us say no more till we arrive there."

As they drove on through Hyde Park and down to Kensington village, Roger recalled the many times that they had taken the same drive together in very different circumstances. Georgina had a natural talent for painting, and Gainsborough and Reynolds had entered on a pleasant rivalry in giving such a ravishing pupil lessons, in her studio-villa on Campden Hill; but she also used it as a petit maison, and when she felt inclined to play the wanton took her most-favoured beaux there to sup with her. With a sad pang Roger thought again of the wine, the laughter and the love that had united them when he had last accompanied her there in the early hours of the morning, after a ball.

But that was long ago; "and no hideous Paris street scene centring round a battered, bloody corpse lay between them then.

When they arrived at the quiet villa, secluded among its grove of trees, Jenny, Georgina's faithful maid, who knew all her secrets, let them in. Roger had not seen Jenny in Paris and only once in Aran­juez; so after she had bobbed him a curtsy he talked to her for a few minutes as an old friend; and that served to relieve a little the tension between Georgina and himself. Georgina then told Jenny to bring them a bottle of Canary wine and, as the maid left them to fetch it, asked him when he had last fed.

"I have not eaten all day," he replied; "but am more tired than hungry. What I need most in all the world, after your forgiveness, are a hot bath and a few hours' sleep."

She kept her eyes away from his. "The issue cannot now be al­tered; so I will contain my impatience yet a while that you may have both, and be the better man to justify yourself—if you can. 'Tis not yet eight o'clock. Jenny shall boil some water up for you while we drink a glass of wine and you undress. You can sleep in my bed and later I will have some cold food ready for you."

In silence they drank two glasses each of the Canary, then he had his bath and flopped into Georgina's big square bed. As its black silk sheets caressed his naked limbs he thought of the last time that he had lain there, with her burbling with laughter beside him, and won­dered if he would ever again know such perfect contentment. Then he dropped asleep.

At midnight she woke him, and shortly afterwards he joined her in the lofty studio-sitting-room, one end of which was curtained off to conceal all the paraphernalia of her painting. In the other, in front of the fireplace, a small table was set for supper. As they sat down to it, she said:

"Tell me now, Roger, what led you to this ghastly act, that must for ever bring the awful vision of his dead body between us, unless you can once and for all dispel it"

Georgina and Droopy were the only people from whom Roger had never concealed his secret activities, so; as they slowly ate their supper, he told her of his endeavours to break the Family Compact, then of Mr. Pitt's blasting of him that evening, and his reply.

It was the first time that they had ever eaten a meal together with­out laughter, and now Georgina did not even smile, as she remarked: "You are right in that you have served your country well by these extraordinary means, and risked your life in doing so; for had you not handled matters with great skill and daring the French authorities would have had you tried and executed for murder. What had the Prime Minister to say on your proving to him that you have sacrificed all else in a fanatical devotion to your duty?"

"He asked me for the Letter of Marque I carried; struck out the words 'of Nootka Sound', altered one other, initialled the alterations and handed it back to me; so that it now reads:

“Mr. Roger Brook knows my mind on this matter, and is commissioned by me to speak upon it."

Georgina's unsmiling eyes widened. " 'Tis then transformed into an open warrant, empowering you during the course of your work to speak in his name on any subject. It shows that you have now won his complete trust in your judgment, 'Tis a remarkable achievement, Roger, and I am glad for you in that."

"I thank you." He returned her solemn glance. " 'Tis even more a testimony to the greatness of his own mind, in that he has overlooked my many shortcomings and paid regard only to the final outcome of my mission. But I'll find no joy in his noble gesture to me unless I can convince you too that I played no dishonourable part."

She continued to regard him dubiously, as she said: "In so grave an affair of State I can understand that the life of a single man could not be allowed to affect the issue; but 'twas the personal relationship you bore him, Roger, that made your crime so peculiarly horrible. Surely, if a man had to die to win your popularity with the mob, you could have played the part of blind Fate and selected a victim at ran­dom, instead of seizing on the chance to slake your hatred of the husband of your mistress?"

" 'Twas no calmly reasoned plan. The thought that I might achieve my country's ends over Don Diego's dead body came to me only as a flash of inspiration while we stood together on that balcony. But had I had time to make deliberate choice of a victim I greatly doubt if I could have brought myself to throw an innocent person to that pack of wolves. I had in any case come there to kill him."

"I do not understand you, Roger." Georgina shook her head. "Diego was as innocent as myself of the Condesa Isabella's death. She did not even die by poison; she was butchered by those cut-throat robbers."

"Say hired assassins, rather! Don Diego planned her murder. I am convinced of that. When I reached the Embassy, I was still too distraught to do more than imply that I knew him to be guilty, and after—after what then befell I had no opportunity for any explanation with you. Instead of mumming the part of blind Fate, as you suggest, I took the role of blindfold Justice. He raised the mob to kill her. I raised the mob to kill him."

"What proof have you of this monstrous charge you make against him?"

Roger spread out his hands. " 'Tis the very lack of it that has filled me with such despondency at the thought of trying to make my case with you. I have naught to offer but the word of another person, now also dead, and that you may well consider prejudiced by hatred and suspicion of Don Diego. If you refuse to believe it there is no more that I can say. I can but vouch for the story as it was told to me, and pray that you may judge, as I did, that 'tis so circumstantial as to have the ring of truth."

Leaning forward across the table, he went on earnestly: "In recent months there have been numerous attacks on religious institutions in Paris for the purpose of robbery; and that excuse served for the one which was made on the night of Tuesday the eighteenth, on the Con­vent of the Carmelites. I had a rendezvous there with Isabella at ten o'clock the following morning, and knew naught of it till then.

"On my arrival I found National Guard sentries posted on the broken doors, and at first they refused me admittance. But I insisted on seeing the Mother Superior, and when I declared myself a friend of Isabella this is what she told me.

"Shortly after two in the morning they were aroused and alarmed by a battering on the doors. By a previous arrangement made in case of such an emergency she and her nuns at once gathered in the chapel; but Isabella, being a lay visitor, did not know of it and remained in her room. The doors were burst in, but the attackers numbered less than a dozen ruffians. They despoiled the sacristry of the sacred ves­sels, seized all other articles of any value they could find, insulted the nuns and defiled the altar. After some twenty minutes of such ex­cesses they left the Convent with their loot. It was only then that the Mother Superior recalled her visitor. On going to Isabella's room she found her dead, and little Quetzal lying under her bed grievously wounded.

"The boy was still alive at the time of my visit and the Mother Superior took me to him. This is what he had to tell. He was sleeping in the gardener's lodge, hard by the main entrance to the Convent. He was awakened by the battering upon it, and getting up ran to his mistress. No sooner were the main doors stove in than he heard the rush of trampling feet along the stone corridor; then the ruffians attacked the door of Isabella's room. They forced it and four of them made violent entry. Isabella had sprung from her bed, thrown a robe about her person and was standing in the middle of the room. That gallant child had his tomahawk in his hand and did his best to defend her. In a moment he was struck down and they rushed upon Isabella. Two of them seized her arms and forced her back against the wall, while the other two thrust their pikes a dozen times through her body.

"Seeing that she was dead, and hoping yet to save himself, Quetzal wriggled beneath the bed. When they had left the room he tried to staunch the blood that was flowing from his wound. He was still attempting to do so when the trampling of feet came again. Peering out from under the valance, he saw a tall man, who had not been there before, and one of Isabella's murderers. The tall man was masked, wore a cloak, and a soft-brimmed hat pulled well down over his face. He stood for a moment looking down at Isabella's dead body. Then he drew a heavy bag of money from under his cloak and handed it to the leader of the murderers with the words: *Yes; this is the woman. Here is the price on which we agreed.'

"Quetzal knew the tall figure, and he knew the voice. He died of his wound before I left the Convent, and with his last breath he swore to me that it was Don Diego."

Georgina nodded. "I cannot doubt you, Roger; and I now under­stand. I can by inference even confirm the truth of what you say. That morning Diego was sent for to go to the Convent about seven o'clock. I was up when he returned, and having told me what had occurred he asked me to marry him as soon as his period of mourning was over. Then, I saw no possible connection between him and the attack on the Carmelites. I was only shocked by his flagrantly indecent haste in proposing before his wife's body was even cold. The thought of his callousness in that afterwards did much to lessen the grief I should otherwise have felt at the death of anyone with whom I had been so intimate. But now I see that his proposal to me was the con­firmation of his wife's fears, and nails his motive to the mast."

For a moment she was silent, then she resumed in a low voice: "What you have told me now reveals that I was greatly guilty towards your poor Condesa. I ridiculed her fears and sought to persuade you that she was lying in order to entrap you. Worse; it seems that I was in a large measure responsible for her death."

"Nay," Roger protested. "You must not think that. The intensity of Don Diego's passion when unsatisfied drove the poor man into morbid fits, during which he was no longer master of himself. Had he not conceived a desperate passion for you he would have done so for some other fair, just as he did in a lesser degree for Sara Goudar. You did all that lay in your power to avert a tragedy; for you gave yourself to him even while unconvinced that by your continuing to refuse him a tragedy might occur."

She shook her head. "Dear Roger; I was more responsible than you know; but only out of love for you. I could not abide the thought of your ruining your future for her sake. I concocted a plan with Papa by which we hoped to save you. That day on which you were in Toledo he went to Manuel Godoy, and pointed out to him that General Count d'Aranda's daughter would have an influence far greater than her husband with the Queen of France; so that if the mission was to be successful 'twas of the first import that she should leave her child and go with him. Godoy was quick to see the sense in that and went to Queen Maria Luisa. The result was the order that ruined your plans for an elopement and sent the Condesa Isabella to die in Paris."

"Strap me! I might have guessed it I" he exclaimed. "I knew the way you felt, and that you were capable of taking any measure that you "thought might save me from myself."

Her dark eyes were shining and she took his hand. "Yes, Roger. And, even could I have foreseen the terrible result of my secret inter­vention, I would have accepted the guilt and done the same. Your happiness means more to me than the life of any woman."

"And yours more to me than the life of any man. I thank you, sweet; for had not matters panned out as they have my life could have been only one long tale of misery. I loved poor Isabella desper­ately when we were together in Florence and Naples; but on leaving the latter place I deliberately killed my love for her, and strive as I would afterwards, I could not revive it. She was incredibly possessive; and had I eloped with her I should have been in honour bound to stick by her for good, in fact, far more so than had she been my married spouse. 'Tis now six months since my first striving to cut her image from my heart, and I would be a liar if I did not confess to you that I am mightily relieved to have my freedom."

For a full moment they were silent, then Georgina said: "No good can come to either them or us from arguing the matter further. I would suggest that we now regard them as other loves of ours that are past and gone; and seek to forget their double tragedy by never referring to it again."

"Egad, you're right 1" he nodded. " 'Twould be hypocritical to pretend that either of our hearts is broken. Shall we—would it be too monstrous callous if we cracked another bottle of wine to seal that pact, and toast the future ?"

Georgina smiled. "Since Fate has ordained that they should die and we should live, 'twould be an insult to our own protecting gods did we weep crocodile tears instead of rejoicing in our deliverance. Go get a bottle up from the cellar, m'dear. Meanwhile I'll rid me of these plaguey pinching corsets and take my ease in a chamber robe."

· · · · ·

Ten minutes later Roger was pouring the Champagne into tall glasses, and Georgina had installed herself comfortably in a corner of the big settee. As he carried the wine over and sat down beside her, she asked:

"Now that you are so firmly re-established in Mr. Pitt's good graces, will you proceed on another mission for him at an early date ?"

"Not for a time," he replied; then added with a sudden gay excite­ment: "I did not tell you all his kindness to me. He was good enough to say that I had done more to deserve a Knighthood of the Bath than most men who receive it But 'tis not possible to reward services of a secret nature in that way; so he asked me what I would have that it was in his power by patronage to bestow. After a moment's thought I said I would like a small house of my own, if it chanced that any of the Crown properties of a moderate size were vacant. By great good fortune Thatched House Lodge in Richmond Park has recently fallen free. He has promised me a life occupation of it, and I can scarce contain my impatience to see my new home."

"Oh, Roger, how truly marvellous!" she exclaimed, her lovely face now glowing with delight. "I know it well, and 'tis the most charming spot imaginable. 'Twill not be too big for you to run, yet large enough for you to put up a few people if you wish and to entertain in. It stands on a rise with a pretty garden at its back and a view that is enchanting. The older part was once a hunting lodge of Charles I. In the garden there is still standing a large, thatched summer-house which he loved to frequent; and some twenty years ago an occupant of the place had Angelica Kauffmann paint the most lovely frescos on its ceiling."