‘To save your Majesty’s life to-night.’ ‘To-night!’ she echoed, her coquetry gone. ‘To-night.’ ‘But how and where?’ ‘Assassination, Madame, in Toledo. You are three hours late in your journey. But all Toledo will be astir awaiting you, though it be till dawn.’ The Queen Regent closed her fan slowly. She was, as the rapid events of her reign and regency have proved, one of those women who rise to the occasion. ‘Then one must act at once,’ she said. The General bowed. ‘What have you done?’ she asked. ‘I have sent to Madrid for a regiment that I know; they are as my own children. I have killed so many of them that the remainder love me. I have travelled from Toledo to meet your Majesty on the road, or here.’ ‘And what means have you of preventing this thing?’ ‘I have brought the means with me, Madame.’ ‘Troops?’ asked the Queen doubtfully, knowing where the canker-worm lay hidden. ‘A woman and a priest, Madame.’ ‘And—’ ‘And I propose that your Majesty journey to Madrid in my carriage, attended only by my orderlies, by way of Aranjuez. You will be safe in Madrid, where the Queen will require her mother’s care.’ ‘Yes. And the remainder of your plan?’ ‘I will travel back to Toledo in your Majesty’s carriage with the woman and the priest and your bodyguard—just as your Majesty is in the habit of travelling. Toledo wants a fight; nothing else will satisfy them. They shall have it—before dawn. The very best I have to offer them.’ And General Vincente gave a queer, cheery little laugh, as if he were arranging a practical joke. ‘But the fight will be round my carriage—’ ‘Possibly. I would rather that it took place in the Calle de la Ciudad, or around the Casa del Ayuntamiento, where your Majesty is expected to sleep to-night.’ ‘And these persons—this woman who risks her life to save mine—who is she?’ ‘My daughter,’ answered the General gravely. ‘She is here—in the hotel now?’ The General bowed. ‘I have heard that she is beautiful,’ said the Queen, with a quick glance towards her companion. ‘How is it that you have never brought her to Court, you who come so seldom yourself?’ Vincente made no reply. ‘However, bring her to me now.’ ‘She has travelled far, Madame, and is not prepared for presentation to her Queen.’ ‘This is no time for formalities. She is about to run a great risk for my sake, a greater risk than I could ever ask her to run. Present her as one woman to another, General.’ But General Vincente bowed gravely and made no reply. The colour slowly rose to the Queen Regent’s face—a dull red. She opened her fan, closed it again, and sat with furtive downcast eyes. Suddenly she looked up and met his gaze. ‘You refuse,’ she said, with an insolent air of indifference. ‘You think that I am unworthy to—meet your daughter.’