Clementina

Gaydon could no longer even pretend to doubt who had walked with

Whittington to the Caprara Palace the night before. It was none of his

business, however, he assured himself. If his King dwelt with emphasis

upon the dangers of the enterprise, it was not his business to remark

upon it or to be thereby disheartened. The King said very graciously

that he would hold the major and his friends in no less esteem if by any

misfortune they came back empty-handed. That was most kind of him, but

it was none of Gaydon's business. The King was ill at ease and looked as

though he had not slept a wink the livelong night. Well, swollen eyes

and a patched pallid face disfigure all men at times, and in any case

they were none of Gaydon's business.

He rode out of Rome that afternoon as the light was failing. He rode at

a quick trot, and did not notice at the corner of a street a big

stalwart man who sauntered along swinging his stick by the tassel with a

vacant look of idleness upon the passers-by. He stopped and directed the

same vacant look at Gaydon.

But he was thinking curiously, "Will he tell Charles Wogan?"

The stalwart man was Harry Whittington.

Gaydon, however, never breathed a word about the Caprara Palace when he

handed the passport to Charles Wogan at Schlestadt. Wogan was sitting

propped up with pillows in a chair, and he asked Gaydon many questions

of the news at Rome, and how the King bore himself.

"The King was not in the best of spirits," said Gaydon.

"With this," cried Wogan, flourishing the passport, "we'll find a means

to hearten him."

Gaydon filled a pipe and lighted it.

"Will you tell me, Wogan," he asked,--"I am by nature curious,--was it

the King who proposed this enterprise to you, or was it you who proposed

it to the King?"

The question had an extraordinary effect. Wogan was startled out of his

chair.

"What do you mean?" he exclaimed fiercely. There was something more than

fierceness in the words,--an accent of fear, it almost seemed to Gaydon.

There was a look almost of fear in his eyes, as though he had let some

appalling secret slip. Gaydon stared at him in wonder, and Wogan

recovered himself with a laugh. "Faith," said he, "it is a question to

perplex a man. I misdoubt but we both had the thought about the same

time. 'Wogan,' said he, 'there's the Princess with a chain on her leg,

so to speak,' and I answered him, 'A chain's a galling sort of thing to

a lady's ankle.' There was little more said if I remember right."