It seemed to me the Duke winced.

"Your Highness is severe," he said.

She looked him straight in the eyes. "On the contrary, cousin, I am kind to put it so--and you know it."

But Lotzen's equanimity was not to be disturbed. He smiled with engaging frankness.

"The Queen can do no wrong," he said, and bowed over the table.

Just then, Madeline Spencer arose and I breathed a sigh of relief--she was going. The next instant I almost gasped. Instead of going, she came swiftly toward us--pa.s.sed the low bank of plants--and straight to me.

I arose--all the men arose--and bowed stiffly. She hesitated and seemed a bit embarra.s.sed--then, suddenly, held out her hand to me.

"I am afraid, Armand," she said, "you are not glad to see me."

Armand! Armand! Lord, what nerve! A rush of sharp anger almost choked me, yet I tried to look at her only in calm interrogation.

"I think, Mrs. Spencer," I said, just touching her hand, "almost every man is glad to see a pretty woman."

She gave me a look of surprise; then, threw up her head, disdainfully.

"You called me 'Mrs. Spencer'?" she asked.

I looked at her in surprise. "I was not aware you had changed your name," I answered.

She took a step backward. "You were not aware of what?" she exclaimed.

"That you were no longer Mrs. Spencer," I said--a trifle curtly, maybe.

I thought she was playing for a presentation to the Princess and I had no intention of gratifying her, even if I had to be rude to her deliberately.

She pa.s.sed her hand across her brow and stared at me incredulously. I turned half aside and glanced around the table. Every face but three showed blank amazement. Of those three, the Princess's wore a tolerant smile; Lotzen's a frown; but Courtney's was set in almost a sneer.

And, at it, I marvelled. Later, I understood; he had, by some queer intuition, guessed what was to follow.

When I came back to Mrs. Spencer her expression had changed. The incredulous look was gone; bright anger flamed, instead.

"Do you still persist, sir, that you do not know my rightful name?" she demanded.

From my previous acquaintance with the lady I knew she was working herself into a pa.s.sion; though, why, I could not imagine.

"My dear Madame," I said, "why such pother over such a trifle? If your name be, no longer, Madeline Spencer, tell me what it is. I shall be profoundly glad to call you by it--or any name than Spencer," I added.

She felt the thrust and her eyes answered it. Then, suddenly, she turned and faced those at the table.

"Your pardon," she said, speaking straight at Lord Radnor, "will you tell me if this man here"--waving her hand toward me--"is Major Armand Dalberg?"

Lord Radnor bowed. "That gentleman is His Royal Highness the Grand Duke Armand of Valeria," he said.

"Erstwhile, Major of Engineers in the American Army?" she asked.

"I believe so, Madame," said his Lordship, stiffly.

"Thank you," she said. "And now----"

But I broke in. "Madame," I said sharply, "you have presumed beyond forbearance. Major Moore, will you escort the lady to her companions."

Moore stepped forward and, bowing very low, offered his arm. Like a flash, her face changed and she met him with a smile.

"Just a moment, if you please," she said, with softest accents. Then, with studied deliberation, she turned her back on me and swept the Princess an elaborate courtesy.

"Your Royal Highness may pardon my intrusion," she said, "when I tell you that I am Armand Dalberg's wife---- Now, Major Moore, I am ready,"

and she put her hand upon his arm.

But Moore never moved. Instead, he looked at me for orders.

Language is utterly inadequate to describe my feelings at that moment; so I shall not try. Imagination is better than words. I know I had an almost uncontrollable impulse for violence--and I fancy Courtney feared it, for he stepped quickly over and put his hand on my shoulder.

"Thank you, old man," I said. Then I looked at the Princess.

She was leaning carelessly back in her chair, watching the Spencer woman through half-closed eyes--a bright flush on each cheek and: a faint smile, half sneer, half amus.e.m.e.nt, on her lips. Suddenly she looked at me, and the smile flashed out into such an one as she had given me in the Royal Box.

My heart gave a great bound--I knew she trusted me, still. I turned to the woman in black.

"Is it possible, Madame, that you claim to be my wife?" I asked.

She dropped Moore's arm and took a step toward me--and, as I live, there were tears in her eyes.

"What has changed you, Armand?" she asked. "Why do you flout me so?"

I stared at her. "G.o.d help me, woman, you must be crazy!" I said.

She put out her hand appealingly. "You don't mean that, dear, surely?"

And, now, the tears were in her voice, too.

"What I mean, Madame, is that you are either crazy or playing some game," I answered curtly.

She brushed aside the tears and gave me a look of almost heart-broken appeal.

"Why do you deny me, Armand?" she cried. "Have I grown ugly in the last few months? Has the beauty you used to praise turned so soon to ashes?"

Unfortunately, for me, her beauty had not turned to ashes. She was, at that very moment, the handsomest woman I had ever seen--save only the Princess. The slender figure--the magnificent neck and shoulders--the roll upon roll of jet-black hair--the almost cla.s.sic face--and all in distress and trouble.

She was a picture, surely; and one that was making its impression; judging from the faces of Lord and Lady Radnor. I changed my manner.

"My dear Mrs. Spencer," I said kindly, "no one may deny your beauty--and I, least of all. But I do deny that I am your husband.

You are, evidently, ill, and laboring under some queer hallucination."

She shook her head. "You know perfectly well, Armand, I am not ill nor under a delusion," she said, and looked me straight in the eyes.

"Then, Madame, you are a wonderful--actress," I answered.