At once victorious, and dominated by his kinsman's bearing, Adrian flung himself on the seat and motioned the other to the place beside him. But Stanief remained standing, choosing not to see the invitation, and there was a pause. "I do remember my promise," Adrian declared, proudly reverting to the reproach of a few moments before. "If I have made you do this, cousin, it was not to please Dalmorov." Stanief bowed, answering nothing. "The lady--you will have heard of her. I met her last year on the Riviera. In her country they call her the Gentle Princess, because--she is. And she is very lovely." Still the dark face was unstirred. His object gained, Adrian fretted and chafed before the change he himself had wrought. "You are like Monsieur Allard; you do not want to yield your will," he said, half petulantly, half haughtily. "He is mine, you gave him to me; yet he did not like it because I said that no longer shall his fortune come from any one but me. Why?" "He is an American, sire." "Why does that make a difference between you and me?" "I love him, sire." The cold explanation coincided perfectly with Allard's; illogically Adrian felt a pang of isolation before this friendship, although he would not have believed either if they had professed the same affection for him. "The churches are ringing the hour," he remarked, the sullen child struggling with the Emperor. "If you wish to go, as usual, you have my leave." "Thank you, sire; my hours are indeed crowded." "You are willing to ask the Princess Iría in marriage?" "As you dispose, sire." Satisfied and dissatisfied, Adrian held out his hand. "You are not content, cousin," he accused. "You think me unkind." Stanief paused to meet the wilful gaze. "Perhaps I think of a day the years are bringing, sire," he replied gravely, and bent his head still lower to the jeweled fingers which grasped so much. Adrian flushed scarlet. "No," he denied fiercely. "Feodor, you can not believe I will fail you if you do not me? You can not think that then, after that--" Stanief did not help him at all. Taking refuge in wordlessness, Adrian left the sentence unfinished and let his cousin go, with an assumption of dignity that hardly concealed the sting of the rebuke he had received. But he did not offer to relinquish the purpose so distasteful to Stanief. For half an hour the terrace remained hushed and silent under the noon sunshine, the tree-shadows wavering back and forth across the small, motionless figure. "Monsieur Allard!" at last the summons rang. Allard returned serenely, of course ignorant of the recent stormy discussion. "In a few months," Adrian stated, without looking at him, "the Princess Iría de Bourbon will come here to be married to the Regent. I wish you to be one of the escort that will meet her and bring her to the capital." "But, sire--" "You are surprised?" "I did not know the Grand Duke contemplated marriage, sire," Allard explained, stunned.