Clementina

Wogan could have answered that she had never seen him. He thought

silence, however, was the more expressive. The silence led Maria

Vittoria to conjecture.

"Is there another picture at her heart?" she asked, and again Wogan was

silent. "Whose, then? You will not tell me."

It might have been something in Wogan's attitude or face which revealed

the truth to her; it might have been her recollection of what the King

had said concerning Wogan's enthusiasm; it might have been merely her

woman's instinct. But she started and took a step towards Wogan. Her

eyes certainly softened. "I will go with you to Bologna," she said; and

that afternoon with the smallest equipment she started from Rome. Wogan

had ridden alone from Bologna to Rome in four days; he had spent three

days in Rome; he now took six days to return in company with Mlle. de

Caprara and her few servants. He thus arrived in Bologna on the eve of

that day when he was to act as the King's proxy in the marriage.

It was about four o'clock in the afternoon when the tiny cavalcade

clattered through the Porta Castiglione. Wogan led the way to the

Pilgrim Inn, where he left Maria Vittoria, saying that he would return

at nightfall. He then went on foot to O'Toole's lodging. O'Toole,

however, had no news for him.

"There has been no mysterious visitor," said he.

"There will be one to-night," answered Wogan. "I shall need you."

"I am ready," said O'Toole.

The two friends walked back to the Pilgrim Inn. They were joined by

Maria Vittoria, and they then proceeded to the little house among the

trees. Outside the door in the garden wall Wogan posted O'Toole.

"Let no one pass," said he, "till we return."

He knocked on the door, and after a little delay--for the night had

fallen, and there was no longer a porter at the gate--a little hatch was

opened, and a servant inquired his business.

"I come with a message of the utmost importance," said Wogan. "I beg you

to inform her Highness that the Chevalier Wogan prays for two words with

her."

The hatch was closed, and the servant's footsteps were heard to retreat.

Wogan's anxieties had been increasing with every mile of that homeward

journey. On his ride to Rome he had been sensible of but one

obstacle,--the difficulty of persuading the real Vittoria to return with

him. But once that had been removed, others sprang to view, and each

hour enlarged them. There was but this one night, this one interview!

Upon the upshot of it depended whether a woman, destined by nature for a

queen, should set her foot upon the throne-steps, whether a cause should

suffer its worst of many eclipses, whether Europe should laugh or

applaud. These five minutes while he waited outside the door threw him

into a fever. "You will be friendly," he implored Mlle. de Caprara. "Oh,

you cannot but be! She must marry the King. I plead for him, not the

least bit in the world for her. For his sake she must complete the work

she has begun. She is not obstinate; she has her pride as a woman

should. You will tell her just the truth,--of the King's loyalty and

yours. Hearts cannot be commanded. Alas, mademoiselle, it is a hard

world at the end of it. It is mortised with the blood of broken hearts.

But duty, mademoiselle, duty, a consciousness of rectitude,--these are

very noble qualities. It will be a high consolation, mademoiselle, one

of these days, when the King sits upon his throne in England, to think

that your self-sacrifice had set him there." And Mr. Wogan hopped like a

bear on hot bricks, twittering irreproachable sentiments until the

garden door was opened.