“But that is my very point!” cried M. Drakovics. “These O’Malachys are Scythian spies, all of them. That is one imperative reason for their not being allowed to approach Bellaviste, and the other is that Madame O’Malachy is anxious to entrap the King into marrying her daughter.” “Let us take the charges one at a time,” said Cyril, calmly. “The O’Malachy and his wife are spies--there is no doubt of that--but for that very reason I would not only welcome them to Bellaviste, but I would find room for them in the palace itself, if I could.” “You are joking!” said M. Drakovics, in astonishment. “Not at all, I assure you. Think a moment. The more completely we can treat the O’Malachy family as my brother’s guests, the better we can have them under observation. There is such a thing as a censorship even of private letters and telegrams in disturbed times, I believe; and it would be easier to work it with people we knew, and on whom we kept a constant watch, than with obscure persons whose doings might escape our attention. Again, expelled from Thracia, which is what I suppose you would suggest, the O’Malachys would linger just across the frontier, setting in motion a whole horde of spies, all of whom we could not hope to discover, while we could never be sure that they themselves had not re-entered the kingdom in some disguise. It certainly seems a bold thing to admit them into the very heart of our defences, but they would be clever if they managed to see more than they were meant to see.” “But about Mademoiselle?” asked M. Drakovics, anxiously. “The King cannot marry her. He must form an alliance which will strengthen his throne.” “You are right,--he must. But did you intend to tell him so? I know Caerleon a good deal better than you do, and you may take my word for it that as soon as you had finished your remarks he would go straight to Miss O’Malachy and lay the crown at her feet. So far as he is concerned, you must let the matter take its course. Nothing can be said to him.” “But how, then, would you prevent it?” cried M. Drakovics. “Is the girl to be kidnapped and carried off?” “My good sir--no! Do you want all Europe in a ferment, and Caerleon throwing up the kingdom to go and look for her? The O’Malachy and his wife would make the finest political capital possible out of such a tale. No; we must act merely by means of moral suasion, you and I and Miss O’Malachy.” “Miss O’Malachy? The girl?” gasped M. Drakovics.