It was, of course, impossible to question the Emperor, but Allard's anxiety nearly betrayed him into the indiscretion as Adrian slipped on the cloak and led the way to a small private salon from which a staircase permitted reaching the street unobserved. For, in common with Peter the Great and Harun-al-Rashid, Adrian occasionally indulged in rambles about his capital, incognito, and with Allard for sole companion. It was a habit only a year old, of which even the omniscient Stanief was ignorant. The Emperor had made it a point of honor with his confidant to guard the secret absolutely; and many a bad hour had Allard passed in consequence. No one suspected the true reason why the American had bought a compact, exquisite Italian automobile during the summer before; or guessed the identity of the slim young chauffeur, masked and wearing the usual shapeless coat, who drove the machine through the streets at dusk or later. But it was a current tale for laughter in the clubs that Monsieur Allard had been arrested four times for over-speeding his car and each time had paid his fine without a murmur, himself assuming the blame and exonerating his chauffeur. Perhaps, being young himself, Allard also had enjoyed the variety and slight peril of these excursions. But then the city had lain quiet under the Regent's strong hand, while now-- For once he was pleased to see Dalmorov, who rose at their entrance into the salon. At least his presence proved that nothing wholly secret was intended. "The carriage is ready, Baron?" Adrian asked, drawing on his gloves with his leisurely decision of movement. "It waits at the lower door, sire." "Very good. Are you ready, Allard?" "Sire, I did not understand--" "Well, you have always a coat here, I think." That was true, and taking a key from his waistcoat pocket Allard silently opened the wardrobe that held their apparel for the motor trips. It was Adrian's affair, not his, if the proceeding awakened Dalmorov's ever-active curiosity. However, the baron's attention was fixed on the master, not the man; he was watching Adrian with intent and crafty eagerness. He barely glanced at Allard when he came back ready to go out. "I also may have the honor of accompanying your Imperial Majesty?" he urged. "No," Adrian returned. "Sire--" "No, Dalmorov. Come, Allard." But Allard stood still. "Sire, dare I ask where?" he said, with firm respect. "To drive to the cathedral and observe the preparations for next week," was the dry explanation. "Pardon me yet again; without escort?" "Yes." "Perhaps Monsieur Allard disapproves," suggested Dalmorov sarcastically.