She heard the other door open and the sound of their footsteps going down-stairs; then she turned the handle and entered. Something had happened, something sudden, unexpected, momentous. His voice,--strange how well she was beginning to know it!--had told her that. An envelope lay on the floor; on the table,--the table where the cigarette-box and the revolver lay side by side,--was a paper, half curled up as if anxious to preserve its secret. Subtle, various, and complex are the springs of human action. She felt the paper touched her nearly; she knew it concerned him. Their interests were antagonistic; yet she did not know whether it was for his sake or her own that she was impelled to indulge a wild curiosity. She smoothed the paper out. It was brief and in a hurried hand, but to the point: _Code wire just received says, Strelitz crossed frontier this morning with two thousand men and is marching hither via Turga and Lorenzo. The hour has come. I have sent to Godoy and Renos and will bring them round at once. Yours through hell_, MORET. Lucile felt the blood run to her heart; already she imagined the sound of musketry. It was true the hour had come. The fatal paper fascinated her; she could not take her eyes from it. Suddenly the door opened and Savrola came in. The noise, her agitation, and above all the sense of detection wrung from her a low, short, startled scream. He grasped the situation immediately. "Bluebeard," he said ironically. "Treason," she retorted taking refuge in furious anger. "So you will rise and murder us in the night,--conspirator!" Savrola smiled suavely; his composure was again perfect. "I have sent the messenger away on foot, and the carriage is at your disposal. We have talked long; it is now three o'clock; your Excellency should not further delay your return to the palace. It would be most imprudent; besides, as you will realise, I expect visitors." His calmness maddened her. "Yes," she retorted; "the President will send you some,--police." "He will not know about the invasion yet." "I shall tell him," she replied. Savrola laughed softly. "Oh no," he said, "that would not be fair." "All's fair in love and war." "And this----?" "Is both," she said, and then burst into tears. After that they went down-stairs. Savrola helped her into the carriage. "Good-night," he said, though it was already morning, "and good-bye." But Lucile, not knowing what to say or think or do, continued to cry inconsolably and the carriage drove away. Savrola closed the door and returned to his room. He did not feel his secret was in any danger. CHAPTER XII. A COUNCIL OF WAR.