“I fear, madame, that I can scarcely consider myself an Englishman at this late day, although my enemies are fond of saluting me with the name.” There was meaning in Cyril’s tone, although the eyes which met those of the Princess were devoid of expression, and a novel and by no means unpleasant idea struck her. She was revolving it hastily in her mind when she spoke next, somewhat absently. “Has anything happened?--does the deadlock still exist between your Syndicate and Scythia?” “There is no alteration, madame. Before Scythia will allow us to have Palestine, she demands a promise that your son shall be the first governor.” “It is a great pity--I mean that such a good work should be stopped. Will you accept me as an auxiliary, Count? or am I too transparent a plotter? I will write to Pavelsburg, and represent that you are powerless in the matter. Then perhaps the stipulation may be withdrawn.” “Madame, I am overjoyed by your condescension.” Cyril did not consider it necessary to say that in any case the joint pressure of famine and poverty must cause the withdrawal of Scythian opposition in a day or two. “Oh, I assure you it will be a great delight if I can give you any help. You will let me know how your difficulty with England ends? We shall miss your charming niece terribly. I hope Princess Soudaroff will spare her to us for a day now and then while she remains at Ludwigsbad.” Cyril retired, well content. He had secured what was of the greatest moment to him, an invitation to continue his visits to the villa after Philippa had quitted it on the morrow. When he had left her, the Princess sat for some time musing deeply. “I cannot be sure,” she murmured at last. “It is true that he seems to have no feeling for Ernestine but that of dislike--certainly he does not love her at this moment--but one can never tell. They might meet, and the sight of her might revive all the old feelings. Those caressing ways of hers!--and he is just the man to take a whimsical pleasure in her perpetual inconsistency. How is he to be tested? for I dare not risk anything until I am sure of him. He and I, reigning in Palestine! _Palestine_? we would rule the world. How I should triumph over Alexis and Bettine and the Powers! But there is always Ernestine in the background. How am I to be rid of the fear of her? Ah, that photograph! That will do what I want. He comes again, say, in a week; there will be time to have it enlarged. Birnsdorf!” she raised her voice, and the Countess entered, “I want you to write a letter to Vindobona for me at once.” CHAPTER VII. BREAKING WITH THE PAST.