"Monseigneur, monseigneur," moaned the silver voice. Before all the household, and Adrian's guards, Iría clutched Stanief's stained and blackened coat with small, eager hands and fainted on his breast. "Stand back!" the master commanded as a score of dismayed attendants rushed forward and the Countess Marya sprang toward her mistress. And lifting her easily in his arms, he carried her back to the cream-tinted boudoir left so shortly before and so nearly left for ever. On the way the gold-and-topaz eyes opened, but she did not protest or move until Stanief set her down. "John is safe," he said, with a tenderness that had long passed beyond jealousy. "Did they not tell you, dear?" Iría caught the chair beside her. "You," she panted. "They said you were hurt. Oh, your hands--" "It is nothing." "It is, to me. I thought you would die and never know that I loved you so, monseigneur." "Iría!" he cried. She held out her hands to him with passionate innocence and grief, the loose sleeves falling back to her shoulders with the gesture. "I do, I do. Never say those things to me again, never leave me like that." Dazzled, incredulous, he swept her to him, almost rough in his unbearable doubt and joy. "And John? What of John?" "You knew--" "Knew? Child, you betrayed yourself the first time you spoke of him, the first time I saw you together. Why should I blame you for no fault of yours? How could I blame him, who never even guessed your thought? I never wondered at your choice; only, give me the truth now." "But I love you," she said. "Monsieur Allard; I never thought of him like that after our wedding-day. You were so calm, so strong, I just rested with you and found no room for any other. On the voyage from Spain, I imagined somehow that Monsieur Allard was you, that you had come secretly to meet me, and so I almost taught myself to care for him. No more than that it was." Closer he held her, searching the face of rose-and-pearl with his splendid, lonely eyes. "Love of mine, make no mistake. I want you; my dear, I have wanted you so bitterly long, and you have shrunk from me. You care now, Iría?" "I have always cared, only I never knew until last year. Since then I have hidden from you because I feared you would see; because I never dreamed _you_ cared." With a tinkling crash the silver pin slipped from her hair, like a golden serpent the heavy coil unwound and fell over his arm, draping them both with rippling silk as he stooped to kiss her quivering lips. After a moment she stirred slightly, her head still on his arm as she looked up. "Now you will take me with you?" she breathed, in delicious content. "Now you will not leave me with the Emperor, Feodor?" For the first time in many weeks Stanief laughed, reveling in their knit gaze. "Poor Adrian! How can he punish his rebellious Regent, since he must leave me you? In a garden of fire my lily has opened. Where shall we go, Iría, on our golden journey? To your perfumed South?"