“But you must consider your kingdom. Much may depend on your marriage, and an alliance with a penniless girl not of royal blood--in modern times, at any rate,” she laughed, “might do you a great deal of harm.” “I don’t think I am called upon to consider my kingdom to such an extent as that,” said Caerleon. “I am anxious to have the matter settled before I am crowned, so that if the Thracians think themselves entitled to complain, they may do it before I am irrevocably their king.” “But there is no need to publish your determination,” said Madame O’Malachy, anxiously. “It would sound as though you wished to defy M. Drakovics and his party. And there is another reason why you must proceed very cautiously, and that is Nadia herself. You may trust me--I am an old woman, old and experienced, and Nadia is very young and foolish. As a woman of the world, I can appreciate your willingness to jeopardise your position for her sake; but you know what she is--an eccentric, a fanatic. I am convinced that she fears being thought to pursue you on account of your kingdom, and thinks also that you may have perceived her feelings towards you, and only desire to marry her out of pity.” Caerleon stood pondering. He knew that the woman before him was false to the core--that very morning had given him another proof of the fact--but her words sounded so likely to be true, and the state of feeling they described so characteristic of Nadia, that he was bound to believe them. After all, she was Nadia’s mother, and ought to understand her, and what interest could she have in misrepresenting things in this case? It was only natural to suppose that she would be more likely to strain every nerve to forward his wishes than to put obstacles in his way. Moreover, he had now confided in her to such an extent that he might as well throw himself on her compassion altogether. “But what can I do?” he asked. “You will let me see her and plead my cause?” “Not at present, if you are a wise man,” said Madame O’Malachy. “Leave her to herself for a little. Let her please her pride with the belief that she has repulsed you effectually--her heart will suffer all the more. Then, when you are in your rightful place at Bellaviste, with all your splendour about you, speak to her again. She must see then that you seek her only because you love her, and she will be thankful to perceive it.” “But how shall I see her at Bellaviste?” asked Caerleon. “Are you going on there?” “Have you forgotten,” asked Madame O’Malachy, rather reproachfully, “that it has always been our intention to accompany Louis when he goes to try and obtain a post in the Thracian army? Shall we be less likely to visit Thracia now that we have a friend upon the throne?”