"To a woman, yes." "It seems there's some sort of a dance here, to-night." "Only a state ball," said the trooper sarcastically, "for the royalties of Europe, the Embassies, and all the dignitaries of the Empire--most of them took the trouble to change their clothes." They stood within the great Ionic portico, lighted with flaring torches, occupied by the Yeoman of the Guard in their ancient scarlet livery, bearing halbards. By the door stood clusters of gorgeous officers, and within one could see walls of translucent alabaster, clusters of malachite columns, a vast perspective melting into haze of golden light. "Princes and dignitaries," said the master, thoughtfully. "I wonder how many of them will be alive next month." "Is it so bad?" asked Sydney. "Unless you can get me the Russian papers." "This afternoon," answered Sydney, "Her Majesty gave me the order." "Use it to-night." "I can't leave the palace." "These fripperies are more important!" Brand turned away from him in angry impatience. "I can wait no longer. Take me," he said, "to the Queen." They crossed the portico, they entered the vestibule, but at the foot of the alabaster stairs Brand drew back, clutching Lord Sydney's arm. The trooper saw the colour leave Brand's face. "What's wrong?" he asked. "That carpet," said the master under his breath. "Why is it red?" Lord Sydney stared at him amazed. "Why not?" Without answer, the great man brushed roughly past him and hurried on. Did he foresee that within a few weeks these alabaster stairs must run cascades of blood, the gorgeous corridors beyond be choked with corpses, the gaunt and starving mob ravage these chambers of state, while shattered dome and reeling tower crashed down through the burning roof? Did he foresee that the princes and dames and gentlemen who thronged the rooms were to offer tiaras of diamonds for horseflesh, to haggle with stars and orders for a cup of water, and be dragged out of the cellars and murdered in the streets of the blazing capital? People shrank away from the look in Brand's eyes as he approached them, many who began to comment on his dress, stopped in mid speech, a lane of silent spectators opened to give him passage, a confusion of rumour followed in his wake, and the news of his coming spread excitement to every corner of the palace. For no light purpose would the master of Lyonesse come unprepared in haste at such an hour, business of moment was afoot, a crisis in public affairs. Was it open war between John Brand and the Government? Attended by Lord Sydney, the master entered the throne room, and even he seemed to be moved by the dazzling splendour of the scene. He saw a vault of gold sustained on columns of onyx, an atmosphere of radiant light, dense with perfume, tremulous with music, a confusion of robes and gems, the slow grave movement of some stately dance, then a lane of people opening to the very steps of the throne, where Margaret stood attended by her court.