"Not this evening; the Emperor," he recollected the fiction told Dalmorov, "the Emperor is busy with some plans." "I have been with the Regent. Do you believe it, the accident has made him look years younger. There must be some tonic in gunpowder and sulphur fumes. But you, you appear rather upset and pale; or is it these abominable lights?" "It has been a hard day. I am too tired to be amusing, Rosal." Rosal put his foot on the running-board without the least sign of going away. "Then why are you not at home?" he very naturally inquired. "Because I had an errand; I was too nervous to rest." "Waiting for some one?" "My chauffeur." Rosal settled his eye-glass, extracted a case of cigarettes which he proceeded to offer to Allard, and himself selected one of the contents. "Tell me," he said confidentially, "is it true that the Emperor took scarcely any interest in the Regent's escape?" "No." Allard watched a descending elevator with keen anxiety; the fear that Adrian had been decoyed into some trap was becoming unbearable, yet it was impossible to go in search of him. "They say so at the palace, and all over the city. They say he did not even give a word of praise to you." Aroused to justice as well as a desire to shield Stanief, Allard withdrew his eyes from the hotel entrance to regard his visitant. "Does this seem so?" he demanded irritably, and pushed aside his coat to permit a glimpse of the fiery gem he wore. Rosal's cigarette fell to the pavement; the idle patrician was well skilled in matters heraldic. "That!" he cried, dazzled and envious. Allard shrugged his shoulders and leaned back. "Were you going somewhere?" he asked. "Oh, no; just trying to avoid being bored. Every felicitation, my dear Allard; that is superb. You have nothing to fear from next week, evidently. Vasili told me yesterday that Dalmorov was speaking so kindly of you that it positively alarmed him. The baron praised everything you had ever done, from the time you came aboard the _Nadeja_ at New York. And he asked all manner of questions about the trip over and the Grand Duke's fondness for you." "Yes?" Allard responded absently. He could see an illuminated clock down the street, and he resolved that when the hand reached the hour he would defy Adrian's order and go in quest of him. "Yes. A jealous animal, Dalmorov. New family; the title is only three generations old. I shall go to Paris next week; he never liked me very much, and there is a new singer at the Théâtre Français. _Tiens_, here is your man!" Allard turned sharply, catching his breath. Rosal, who knew the Emperor so well,--could he be deceived? Certainly he could not keep the secret if it were learned, not if the mines, exile and sudden death itself awaited his disclosure; every club in the capital could have afforded tales of "_ce bon bavard Rosal_."