And he looked her straight in the face, much pained at that tragic interview.

"Be frank with me, Lola--do!" he urged after a moment's pause. "Tell me the real truth, and I may yet be able to save the situation."

"No," she cried, wringing her hands frantically. "You cannot. I have come to bid you good-bye--you, my good friend. Ah! I have been too foolish; I have disregarded all good counsels, and have gone down--down to my death! Yet only; because I have loved. Had I not had the misfortune to have been born a princess I should have loved and been happy. But, alas! happiness is impossible for me, unfortunate as I am-- only death--death!"

And she stood, her white nervous lips moving in silence, her fine eyes fixed straight before her as though looking into the Unknown, horrified, transfixed.

CHAPTER THIRTY.

MIJOUX FLOBECQ.

"Lola," he cried at last, unable to stand the sight of her tears and despair, and equally unable to restrain--himself longer. "Lola! Let me help you--let me know the real facts, however ugly they may be--and I will get you out of this difficulty! I implore you to do this, because--ah! you force me to confess to you, though I have believed myself strong enough to preserve my secret--_because I love you_!"

She started quickly and drew back, staring at him in surprise through her tear-dimmed eyes.

"You!" she gasped.

"Yes," he answered in a quick, low whisper, grasping her small hand in his. "I know that I have no right to speak to you thus, but I cannot hold my secret longer. My love for you is forbidden, and besides I know, alas! too well, that your affection is centred upon another--Henri Pujalet--the man who loves you."

Mention of her lover's name seemed to electrify her. She s.n.a.t.c.hed away her hand, turned her head and e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed:

"No, no. Do not mention that man's name, I beg of you?"

This caused Hubert considerable surprise. Was it actually possible that they had quarrelled? He recollected that Pujalet had told him that he had come to Rome to meet her.

"I regret, Lola, if I have annoyed you," he said quickly in deep apology, "but the fact remains that I love only you--you, my love!"

"You have forgotten your Spanish dancer--eh?" she asked in a strange tone of reproach.

"I took your advice," was his simple reply; "and in doing so I gradually grew to love you, Princess, yet knowing that my affection could only bring me, a lonely man, grief, pain and despair."

She was silent. Her little, white-gloved hand was again in his, and he had raised it reverently to his lips.

Ah! that was to him a moment of extreme ecstasy, for her hand lay inert and he saw that though her head was turned to conceal her emotion, her chest heaved and fell convulsively. She was sobbing.

He placed his arm tenderly about her small waist, and slowly she turned her tear-stained face to his. Their gaze met, but no second glance was needed to show that the pa.s.sionate affection was reciprocated, though it remained unspoken, unacknowledged.

For some moments he held her in his strong, manly embrace, and though no word pa.s.sed between them their two hearts beat in unison.

Alas! it was but a false paradise. Yet are not our lives made up of such? And we, all of us, are prepared to sacrifice years of weariness and of grief for five brief minutes of sweet illusion.

He did not speak. He knew not what to say. The serious nature of that theft on the previous night he realised, alas! too well. Had that intricate key plan pa.s.sed from her hand, then the whole truth would have been out, and Europe must have been suddenly aflame.

As it was, his duty remained towards her, to strive to stifle the scandal and prevent the story either reaching the King's ears or becoming public property.

Cataldi knew that the key had been stolen, and would probably inform His Majesty, in which case Hubert would be hastily summoned to audience and closely questioned.

In such circ.u.mstances what could he explain? Ay, what?

For fully five minutes the pair stood there motionless, save that with his hand he had softly stroked her cheek. Then, unable to repress the pa.s.sion that arose within his bursting heart, he bent until his lips touched hers in a fierce, pa.s.sionate caress.

She turned her great, expressive eyes upon his, those eyes that were so deep and fathomless, and sighed heavily as he kissed her. Her beautiful head was thrown back, displaying her slim white throat, around which was a thin platinum chain from which was suspended a tiny platinum locket encrusted with diamonds, a gift of the Tzarina. She was inexpressibly sweet and refined, her soft beauty seeming the more perfect as she stood there inert in the man's strong arms.

Again his lips met hers. Then to his boundless joy he felt that, at the same instant she kissed him in return.

Yet next second, as though annoyed that she should have flung discretion to the winds, she gently disengaged herself from his embrace, saying in a low, pained voice:

"No, Hubert--I--I mean Mr Waldron--this is madness. I--we can never be anything but friends, alas! though I--"

She broke off short, and hot tears again filled her splendid eyes.

Then, covering her face suddenly with her hands, she burst into a fit of sobbing.

Hubert crossed and turned the key in the door in case Peters might enter.

Then, returning to her, he strove to comfort her. He implored her, with all the pleading he could summon, to reveal to him the whole story of the plans and the reason she had abstracted them.

But she gravely shook her head, and still preserved a resolute silence.

The man stood bewildered. He saw himself in a terrible quandary.

Within a few hours the King might get to know, or Cataldi might inadvertently mention the mysterious theft of the key plan.

The Press--and more especially the scurrilous section of it on the Continent--has an ingenious way of ferreting out details regarding scandals which is gravely disconcerting to those who are trying to suppress them.

Of his love Hubert Waldron made no further mention. Her mild reproof held him tongue-tied. He knew, alas! too well, the bitter truth of her simple remark. They could never be more than friends, for she must marry a Prince of the blood-royal. The pride of the Royal House of Savoy would never admit or sanction a morganatic marriage.

For fully another quarter of an hour she remained there. He saw, however, upon her face traces of tears, and when she grew calmer he opened the door of his room, into which she pa.s.sed, and there bathed her eyes with eau-de-Cologne.

When she again emerged she was her old self, though still very pale and nervous, and just before one o'clock she drew on her long gloves and, taking up her blue, morocco hand-bag which bore the royal cipher in gold, bade him a low, half-whispered "_Addio_."

"Not farewell," he said, bending and kissing her hand. "Keep a stout heart, Lola. Do nothing rash. Act with great caution and discretion, and I, on my part, will do all I can to preserve silence." She shook her head despairingly.

"That does not remove the terrible stigma upon me," she said. "It does not remove my guilt!" And with those words upon her white lips she pa.s.sed through the door which Hubert unlocked for her and down the stairs to the busy street; he following in silence.

In order not to attract notice she would not allow him to call a _vettura_, but preferred to walk. Therefore, slipping out of the door with another whispered adieu, she was instantly lost to his sight.

When he returned upstairs the telephone bell was ringing, and he responded.

He heard the detective, Pucci, speaking.

"You missed me, signore--eh?" he said cheerily, though the voice sounded far away. "I am at Orvieto--at the Hotel Belle Arti--eighty miles from Rome. I could not communicate with you before leaving. Can you come here? It is most important. I cannot leave."

"Neither can I," Waldron replied. "Why have you gone to the country?"

"I am keeping observation upon a friend of yours, signore."

"A friend of mine! Who?"