distinguished-looking man was silent, and rising, walked upthe long strip of carpet placed upon the marble floor. Then slowly hereturned to her, and looking straight into her face, said--
"My hands are tied, my girl. I am powerless, I confess to you."
"But in your heart you believe that he is innocent? Tell me the truth."
"Yes," he whispered in a broken voice. "I do--I do."
She made no response. His admission was full of a poignant meaning.She saw that he was somehow fettered, held in some mysterious bondage ofwhich she was in ignorance.
Again she spoke of the examination of the safe by Dubard, but thismatter he seemed disinclined to discuss, and pleading other affairs, heurged her to return home and await him at luncheon.
At three o'clock, after eating his midday meal with her, he went forthagain to make a round of official calls, when, a quarter of an hourlater, the Italian footman threw open the long white doors of the smallsalon where Mary was sitting writing letters, and announced--
"Comte Dubard!"
She started quickly, held her breath, and rose to greet her visitor,who, foppishly dressed in a pale grey flannel suit, came forwardsmiling, and, drawing his heels together, bowed low over her white hand.The man's calm impertinence and cool unscrupulousness held herspeechless.
"I thought you were still at San Donato," she stammered, when at lastshe found tongue. "I had no idea you were here, in Rome."
"I have followed you," he declared, smiling. "You left the villaunknown to me, and therefore I have come to you."
"For what reason?" she inquired, her brows slightly elevated.
"Because--well, because I fear that the reason of your sudden journey isto reveal to your father those things which I told you in confidence theother day. Remember the future rests entirely in your own hands. Hemust know nothing--at least at present."
"And is that the only reason you are here, count?" she asked meaningly,standing before him with her hands behind her back, her splendid darkeyes fixed upon him.
"I come here as your friend to warn you that silence is best at thismoment. A word to your father will precipitate the crisis. I know," hewent on, "that you are convinced that an injustice has been done in thecase of poor Solaro. Your attitude the other evening showed me that.But I beg of you to make no effort to clear his character, because, inthe first place, any such attempt must of necessity fail; and secondly,your father's enemies would at once shriek of the insecurity of theFrench frontier. No," he argued, speaking in a low tone in French, "youmust keep your own counsel, mademoiselle. If this catastrophe is to beaverted, if the Cabinet is to be saved, then it must be by someingenious means that are not apparent to your father's enemies."
She stood listening to this declaration of friendship by the man who hadpried into her father's secrets. It was on the tip of her tongue toopenly charge him with ulterior motives, nevertheless her betterjudgment prevailed. She recognised, as her father had pointed out, thatno good end could be served by showing her hand at that juncture,therefore she allowed him to argue without raising her voice in protest.He had followed her from Tuscany because he was apprehensive lest sheshould tell her father the truth. Why? He was in fear of something; ofwhat, she could not tell.
A great conspiracy, ingenious and widespread, was afoot to encompass herfather's ruin, therefore she resolved to remain at his side and at anycost face the perils of exposure. The few hours she had spent in herfather's society had shown that, so full was he of his responsibleofficial duties and affairs concerning the army of Italy, he had, in afew weeks, become an entirely changed man. His face was now pale anddrawn, and when he sat alone with her there rested upon his countenancea haunted look--the look of a man who was face to face with ruin.Loving her father, she had been quick to recognise the truth. At firstit had staggered her, but her surprise and horror had given place to adeep filial sympathy, and while determined to hide her secret from hermother, she had become at the same time her father's confidante andfriend.
"I am quite well aware of the intentions of the Opposition," sheanswered coldly, after a painful pause. "But I am not in the leastapprehensive. My father has for so many years been a faithful servantof his sovereign that the Italian people still have confidence in him.Neither the country nor the Camera can fail to recognise the manyreforms he has introduced into the army, or how he has alleviated thelot of the common conscript."
"Ah!" he exclaimed, with a deep sigh. "I am glad that you recogniseyour father's strong position--the strongest of any man in the ItalianGovernment. Nevertheless," he added, "those shrieking firebrands can,if they so desire, set Italy aflame. We have that truth to face, and wemust face it."
Her lips were pressed together, for she saw how cleverly he was changinghis tactics towards her. She also recognised how, by appearing to haveconfidence in the future, she could place him off his guard. Herfather's honour was, she felt, in her hands, and the magnitude of theissue aroused within her all her woman's innate tact and courage.
"I came to Rome because my father telegraphed to me," she said quitesimply. "He wanted to take me with him to Palermo to visit my aunt, butthe king's programme is changed, so we are not going after all. Iintend to return to San Donato the day after to-morrow. It is still toohot in Rome."
"Ah! then I own myself quite mistaken," he laughed. "I have been undulyanxious, for I attributed your sudden departure to your natural desireto tell His Excellency all that I had explained in confidence. We men,you know, are in the habit of saying that women cannot keep secrets."
"I can keep one," she declared.
"Yes," he answered. "I know you can. Upon your secrecy in this affairthe very fate of the Ministry depends, believe me. You know that I amyour father's true friend--as well as yours."
She held her breath, and her eyes met his.
"You have told me that several times before," she remarked in a quiet,mechanical voice and with an assumed air of unconcern.
"And I mean it," he said earnestly. "Only you had better not tell yourfather that I am here. It is, perhaps, unwise to let him know that Ihave followed you from San Donato--he may suspect."
"Suspect what?"
"Well, suspect the reason of my visit to you to-day," he said, surprisedat her quick question. "You see I have come here because--well, to tellyou the truth," he faltered, "I am here to tell you something which Iwanted to say at San Donato--yet I dared not."
"What--is it bad news?" she asked, looking at him with someapprehension.
A long silence fell between them. He was watching her, hesitatingwhether he should speak. At length, however, he suddenly took her handand said--
"As I have told you, I am your father's friend. You may doubt me;probably you do. But one day I shall prove to you that I am actingsolely from motives of friendship--that I am endeavouring to shield yourfather from the impending blow."
"If you are, why do you not go to my father and tell him everything?"she asked, inwardly filled with doubt and mistrust.
"Because, as I have told you, it is impolitic to do so at this moment.We must wait."
"And while we wait his enemies may take advantage."
"No, not yet. Their plans are not yet complete," he answered. "I wasat the Camera last evening, and discovered the exact situation. If weare patient and watchful we may yet turn the weapon of our enemiesagainst themselves."
He saw that she was grave and thoughtful, that his advice caused her toreflect; while she, on her part, did not divulge what she had alreadytold His Excellency.
They stood together at the window, where the long green sun-shutterswere closed to keep out the blazing heat of afternoon, and as he lookedupon her handsome profile in that dim half-light he saw that her faceand figure in her cool white dress was the most perfect that he had evergazed upon even in the _haut monde_ of Paris. In the air was thestifling oppression of the storm-cloud: "You are sad," he said presentlyin a calm, low voice as he leaned against the broad marble sill of thewin
dow, where a welcome breath of air reached them from the silentsun-baked street below.
Her dark eyes were fixed upon the opposite wall, and her hands wereclasped in pensive attitude; for his manner had mystified her, knowingall that he had done in the silence of the night at San Donato.
"I fear the future," she declared frankly, starting at his words andturning her gaze upon him.
"But what have you to fear?" he asked, bending slowly towards her withan intense look in his eyes. "I am your friend equally with yourfather's, as I have already declared, and fortunately I know theintentions and the dastardly intrigues of those who are plotting
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