"Oh, no," he laughed, "the news is not unwelcome in the least. At first I regarded it as such, but on mature reflection I see it is not," he declared, quite unperturbed.

But Waldron knew from the man's manner that he was lying. He felt that Henri Pujalet was not the charming, educated man which he had believed him to be on the Nile.

"I hope Mademoiselle has not been--well, indiscreet," the Englishman remarked with a smile. "Ladies so often are."

"Ah, yes. Well--she has, truth to tell, been just a little indiscreet.

But it is nothing," he declared, "really nothing whatever."

"Is there any reply I can convey to her?" asked Waldron. "I am leaving for Paris at four o'clock."

"So soon--eh? Will you not remain and be my guest at dinner this evening?" urged the other. "Do. You must be tired and want rest."

"Ah, no. I much regret, M'sieur Pujalet. But I have to be back at my post at the Emba.s.sy at once. I travel to Italy direct--just as I came."

"Of course. You are a diplomat! I clean forgot!" exclaimed the man before him. "Ah! yours must be a most interesting profession! I have several good friends at the foreign Emba.s.sies in Paris. But I heard yesterday that trouble seems to be brewing in Europe--another war-cloud, they say."

"Oh!" exclaimed Waldron, in an instant interested. "I know nothing of it. Who told you?"

Pujalet seemed upon his guard in an instant.

"Oh--er--I--well, somebody here in this cafe last night was telling us that secret mobilisation orders had been given."

"Secret mobilisation! Where?"

The Frenchman hesitated and reflected.

"In Austria--I believe," was his reply. "But, really, I did not take much notice."

Hubert Waldron held his breath for a few seconds. Was the great secret already out? The political gossip of the cafes was very often correct.

"Was the man unknown to you?"

"Quite. While I was seated over yonder with a friend of mine, a banker of Liege, the man came in, greeted his friend, and joined us. And then they began to chat. Personally, I'm tired of all these war alarms.

They come too frequently, being set about by unscrupulous operators on the Bourses."

"Then you don't believe the rumour--eh?"

"I never believe rumours which I hear in such circ.u.mstances as those.

Not until I have some confirmation," the man declared.

"I have not seen the papers to-day. Is there any mention of the crisis?" Hubert asked.

"None that I have seen," Pujalet replied. "It is merely an alarmist rumour, no doubt."

Waldron lit another cigarette and reflected deeply.

It was distinctly curious and certainly most alarming that the fact which was regarded as such a dead secret in Vienna should have been openly discussed in that cafe in Brussels on the previous night. On his journey he had carefully watched the princ.i.p.al French and Italian papers, but there was no mention whatever of the affair. Besides, before leaving Rome he had arranged that if anything fresh leaked out regarding the crisis a telegram should meet him on his arrival at the Gare de Lyon.

With that innate cautiousness and shrewd discretion which was inborn in him, and which had placed him above others in the profession of diplomacy, he carefully questioned Henri Pujalet further, asking him the opinion held by the stranger regarding the pending crisis, and other such-like questions.

But the mind of the man seated before him seemed an utter blank regarding what had transpired.

"All I know is that the man told us that Austria is secretly preparing for war, and that in a few days Europe would be aflame. I naturally put him down to be one of those alarmist cranks with whom one so often comes into contact--a man who exaggerates the gossip of the Bourse and repeats it as actual fact with embroidery of his own."

"Your friend was a banker?" Waldron remarked. "Perhaps the man had received some inside knowledge from Vienna for the purpose of operating on the Bourse?"

"He may have done," replied the other thoughtfully. "But really I don't know. I didn't take much notice of his words."

Waldron said nothing for a few moments.

"And your reply to Mam'zelle?" he asked at last.

"If I bring it to you at the Grand by three o'clock will that be convenient to you?"

"Quite," was the reply, and then the two men parted, Hubert taking a taxi up to the British Legation in the Rue de Spa, where he had a pleasant luncheon with Hugh Bennett, the Minister, and his wife, returning to the Grand at three o'clock, where in his room he received a sealed letter from the Frenchman's hand.

It was addressed "To Mademoiselle Lola Duprez" and not to the Princess Luisa of Savoy, as Hubert had half expected.

"I can, alas! do no more than thank you most warmly and deeply both on my own behalf and upon Mam'zelle's," said Pujalet in his polite Parisian manner. "By coming here you have rendered a great service to us both-- one that I can never in all my life forget."

But Hubert Waldron, though he placed the letter in his pocket, held the man in distinct antipathy. He could read men's minds better than most of his fellows. It was his profession as a diplomat.

And in the heart of Henri Pujalet, that man who had come up out of the desert from nowhere, he felt that there was a hidden yet distinct evil.

Upon him on that grey, wintry afternoon as he drove to the station to catch the express back to Paris there fell a feeling that a crisis--a dangerous and dramatic crisis--was imminent.

Ah! had he but known the truth--had he had but sight of what the Princess had written in that fatal letter he had conveyed to her lover-- how differently would he have acted!

But, alas! he travelled back to the Eternal City bearing the bitter reply of the Princess's secret lover--a reply by which her own young life was held in the balance, which crushed her soul, which held her in breathless terror, and, alas! caused her to long for the dark oblivion of death.

CHAPTER NINETEEN.

AT THE COURT BALL.

The second Court ball--one of the most brilliant functions of the Roman season--was at its height when, having arrived direct from Paris, very dirty and weary, Hubert hastened to his rooms, washed, changed into uniform, and drove at once to the Palace.

He was all anxiety to hear what had occurred during his absence.

Pucci had left a note on the previous day saying that he hoped to call and see him immediately upon his return. Apparently he had something to communicate.

Hubert, smart in his diplomatic, gold-laced uniform, his c.o.c.ked hat tucked under his arm, and wearing his sword with the Royal Victorian Order and two foreign decorations--the Spanish Order of the Toison d'Or, and the Order of the Elephant of Denmark, pa.s.sed the sentries of the Royal bodyguard, and through the long lines of gorgeously dressed flunkeys in the vestibule, and up the brilliantly lit grand staircase-- that same staircase which he had descended after his secret conversation with His Majesty the King.

Above showed the fine fresco of Christ in a cloud of angels by Melozzo da Forli, once in the Church of Santi Apostoli, and then as he greeted the Royal Chamberlain and entered the great ballroom he suddenly found himself in a whirl of gaiety amid the smartest and most exclusive Court circle in Europe.

The scene was one of great brilliance and animation. The huge _salon_ with its polished floor, its great crystal electroliers, and its beautiful tapestries and paintings, was a perfect phantasmagoria of light and colour. In the gallery the Royal orchestra was playing a pretty waltz from one of the latest Viennese musical comedies, and the dancers, the women in Court gowns, and the men in uniforms and glittering with decorations were whirling round the splendid chamber.

Upon the raised dais with the purple velvet hanging, on the left sat Her Majesty the Queen, wearing a splendid tiara of diamonds and her world-renowned pearls, while across her corsage showed the parti-coloured sash of the Order of St Elisabeth. Near by her was the King himself in his blue military tunic and pale grey trousers, wearing the collar of the Order of the Annonciade, of which he was Grand Master, while on his breast glittered the diamond stars of the Order of the Crown of Italy, St Maurice and Lazarus, and a dozen others. With them were two foreign minor royalties, and several other members of the Royal circle, together with ladies-in-waiting and aides-de-camp and others standing at the rear.

Waldron's eyes were searching for the Princess Luisa. At first he failed to discover her, but a few moments later he saw her take her place beside the Queen and bend to speak with her.