The cool reasonableness of this speech stung the General to the quick, and uttering an inarticulate grunt, he turned to resume the march up the hill. Arrived at the Institution, he left Mansfield in the deaconesses’ guest-chamber, while he went to inquire the Queen’s pleasure, returning shortly, with a very bad grace, to say that her Majesty desired his attendance. The Queen was sitting in a marble verandah, which looked upon a small enclosed garden, warm and bright in spite of the advanced season of the year, and musical with fountains. Madame Stefanovics, a lady almost as stout and comfortable-looking as her husband, was with her, but when General Banics had presented Mansfield and retired to the door, she also retreated out of earshot, and Ernestine gave her visitor a significant smile. “We must not shock Banics,” she said. “He does not know that I have ever seen you before. But tell me, is the Count’s illness serious?” her voice shook with anxiety. “Oh no, madame. It is merely over-fatigue from the journey.” “Ah, the sheikh told me of your wonderful adventures. But I was terrified when Banics said he was ill. You see, in his case I cannot be sure whether his illnesses are merely--political, or whether he is making light of a serious malady for reasons of state.” “Indeed, madame, this attack is genuine, but only temporary, I am sure.” The confident assurance brought the smile again to the Queen’s face. “He must recover quickly, for I am all impatience to see him. There is so much to be arranged, you know. Only the ladies are in the secret, and I have left Anna Mirkovics to act as my deputy at Sitt Zeynab. Banics and Stefanovics must hear of the betrothal before it is announced to the world. They have been so faithful to me. You will tell the Count this?” “Certainly, madame. Does your Majesty wish to send him any other message?” “Tell him”--she paused, and the smile grew dazzling--“give him all the messages you would wish to receive were you in his place. You understand?” She held out her hand, and Mansfield kissed it and retired in a state of ecstatic confusion. Philippa was Philippa still, and there was no one like her in all the world, but here was a woman in whose cause a man might joyfully die, and dying, ask no reward but a glance from her eyes. Once Mansfield had wondered at Cyril’s renewed devotion to the Queen, which seemed so foreign to his character, and was kept in such strict subjection by his own will, but since he had seen her he had ceased to wonder. No man who had once succumbed to her charm of manner, however valiantly he might struggle against it, could ever escape from his bondage to those smiles. Mansfield felt no surprise at the fierceness with which General Banics was prepared to defend his mistress. It was only natural. In the General’s circumstances, Mansfield would have been impelled to do the same himself.