“Do you know that you are a fool, Mansfield?--an honest, blundering idiot? I won’t accept your resignation, do you hear?--though I should be justified in doing so, after the way you have spoken to me. How dare you expect me to defend myself against your suspicions? You know you had given me up as a bad lot. Well, all I knew of the matter was a hint last night from Prince Soudaroff that young Michael had fallen in love with my niece, but I refused to have anything to do with it. And even now I know that you trust me no further than you can see me.” “Forgive me, Count. If you knew how I hated the thought----” “I should grovel before you in mingled pity and admiration, no doubt. But why I should care a farthing about your opinion of me I don’t know. I have never defended myself to any one before, but you are really too young and idyllic for this wicked world. Well, you may be easy about my niece. I will put a stop to King Michael’s love-making.” Mansfield’s mind was in a whirl as he departed. He had not known hitherto what power Cyril possessed over him, nor with what mastery he could play upon his feelings; but he felt now that if he had found his employer guilty of the baseness he had suspected in him, it would have been a blow second only to the loss of Philippa herself. The unworthiness of his late suspicions cut him to the heart, and his whole demeanour the next day was a mute entreaty for pardon, which amused Cyril not a little. Even an incident which would have aroused his misgivings the day before had now no power to disturb his trust. The early promenade and the open-air breakfast were over, and tranquillity had settled down upon the place for the space of those morning hours which Ludwigsbad holds sacred to rest and seclusion. At the Hôtel Waldthier Mansfield sat writing in the little anteroom of Cyril’s _appartement_, whence he could command the side-door which was reserved for Count Mortimer’s visitors. Many strange guests had Mansfield admitted at that door, from royal princes to poverty-stricken Jews, but it was startling even to him to observe a stage conspirator approaching it. The visitor wore a soft felt hat pulled down over his face, and a greatcoat with the collar turned up--an attire singularly unsuited to the weather,--and he glanced from side to side, starting at the slightest sound, in a very realistic manner. After stepping noiselessly up to the door, and apparently satisfying himself that he was unobserved, he returned on tiptoe to the gateway by which he had entered the garden, and brought back with him another person attired like himself. Together they approached Mansfield’s window, and the first man made signs expressive of a desire to enter without attracting attention. Leaving his desk, Mansfield admitted them at the private door. They entered without uttering a word, but, once in the room, the second turned down his collar and disclosed the features of King Michael.