"Characteristic dislike of _coups de théâtre_, I suppose. Now the French would have waited till we were at the entrance of the channel, and then shut the door in our faces neatly. But British Diplomacy does not aim at effects; besides, this looks more natural." "How abominable!" "And listen to this," said the President, as giving way to keen irritation he snatched another paper from his bundle and began to read. "From the Ambassador," he said: "_Her Majesty's Government have instructed the officers commanding the various British coaling-stations south of the Red Sea, to render every assistance to the Lauranian fleet and to supply them with coal at the local market-rate_." "It is an insult," she said. "It is a cat playing with a mouse," he rejoined bitterly. "What will you do?" "Do? Sulk, protest,--but give in. What else can we do? Their ships are on the spot; ours are cut off." There was a pause. Molara read his papers and continued his breakfast. Lucile came back to her resolution. She would tell him; but she would make terms. Savrola must be protected at all costs. "Antonio," she said nervously. The President, who was in a thoroughly bad temper, went on reading for a moment and then looked up abruptly. "Yes?" "I must tell you something." "Well, what is it?" "A great danger is threatening us." "I know that," he said shortly. "Savrola----" She paused uncertain and undecided. "What of him?" said Molara, suddenly becoming interested. "If you were to find him guilty of conspiracy, of plotting revolution, what would you do?" "I should shoot him with the greatest pleasure in the world." "What, without a trial?" "Oh no! He should have a trial under martial law and welcome. What of him?" It was a bad moment. She looked round for another loophole. "He--he made a speech last night," she said. "He did," said the President impatiently. "Well, I think it must have been very inflammatory, because I heard the crowds cheering in the streets all night." Molara looked at her in deep disgust. "My dear, how silly you are this morning," he said and returned to his paper. The long silence that followed was broken by the hurried entrance of Miguel with an opened telegram. He walked straight up to the President and handed it to him without speaking; but Lucile could see that he was trembling with haste, excitement, or terror. Molara opened the folded paper leisurely, smoothed it on the table and then jumped out of his chair as he read it. "Good God! when did this come?" "This moment." "The fleet," he cried, "the fleet, Miguel,--not an instant must be lost! Recall the Admiral! They must return at once. I will write the telegram myself." Crumpling the message in his hand he hurried out of the room, Miguel at his heels. At the door he found a waiting servant. "Send for Colonel Sorrento,--to come here immediately. Go! be off! Run!" he cried as the man departed with ceremonious slowness.