“No. I looked as if I were very sorry for what I had done. I never bullied any one but you, Alice, even in my own Palace.” And Alice looked as self-consciously proud as if she had been paid the greatest compliment. “Now, bring me my lute, and I’ll pass away the time singing a song. But don’t be very long over getting me some tea; remember I’ve had nothing since breakfast--nothing but disagreeableness, however hard I’ve tried to think it otherwise.” CHAPTER VII That night it was as usual near to midnight when the High Priest finished his daily routine of work. Incessant meetings, incessant functions of some kind or other, kept him busy, month in, month out--and yet the hard lips never grumbled, never complained outwardly against this treadmill of Fate. He had given a great deal for it--its greatest value being that other people thought it more than what it really was, to him at least. So the big stable clock was striking twelve as the fine bay horses swung round to the Palace steps and the High Priest alighted. He passed at once to his own private rooms--brightly lighted, warm, luxurious--yet with the chill, silent shadow settling there--unperceived except in that occasional weariness that of late oppressed him oftentimes. Supper was laid for two--a repast to please epicures. And waiting him was that guest of the morning--sitting comfortably beside the blazing fire, with little curls of smoke, like little serpents, wreathing from his lips--the room filled with a delicious perfume passing even the finest aroma of cigars. “Is it possible,” said he languidly, “that you never get back here till this infernal hour?” “Often it is later; I count myself fortunate to-night to be here as the clock strikes twelve. Have you been in long?” “Just about twenty minutes. I took a stroll through the city. It hasn’t altered much. That is its greatest charm. None of those absurd electric toys about yet?” “Not yet, but there is talk of them. It’s strange, but to-night I envy you that quiet walk through the streets, St Armand. How many years is it since I walked the streets alone? Never since I took up quarters here, I think.” “How many years is that?” “Almost twenty-five. They were in favour of a young High Priest. I was, myself.” (Here they both laughed.) “Now I think there is some wisdom in an older man. He has less years of----” “Of celibacy.” “Oh no; not that. I never had any great weakness for the society of women. He has less years of the very soul of vanity!” “They say outside you are the most successful man they’ve had for ages. They call you great, learned, even _wise_--the last and greatest of distinctions!” “Ah! yes--_they_--they chatter like magpies. It’s a pleasure to them to hear themselves talk. In the day-time it pleases me, but at night we are different!” “Still, with a chef like yours, and such cellars, you can afford to stand a little tedium outside.”