She shrank back, as if detected in her guilt; and Don Philip continued: “I look to you not to force me into some very drastic measures to cut this trouble at its root. Think well of what I say, for much concerning another welfare than yours depends on it.” He had found the way to silence her. She could not misread the hint, or blind herself to the understanding which lay behind it. _His_ life lay at the mercy of her conduct. If she would preserve it, she must assume a placid resignation, seem to repudiate the very suggestion of any _arrière pensée_ in her proposal. The shock was stunning, but, having surmounted it, she bent herself with piteous eagerness to play the deceiver’s part. Her fear went on tiptoe; she smiled and sang in the duke’s presence, so that it was pathetic to see her--a thing to turn one’s eyes from. He may have approved the effort; yet in truth she could not so suffer without betraying a sign. To clinch the matter, he decided to play, in collusion with another, his reserve card. One day, the Infanta being present, his Highness began, on some pre-arranged provocation, to banter La Coque upon his former jealousy of a rival musician. “Admit he sang divinely,” he said. “In truth, monseigneur, I saw but little divinity in the man.” “O, you would not, chirruping with your nose to the ground!” “That’s as it may be. I fear no test, before an impartial judge.” “What; you would back yourself in a competition of voices?” “Aye, and of improvisation--this day, this moment, if you will. Let M. Tiretta be summoned, and give us both a fair hearing.” “Coquin, you dare the challenge, knowing he is gone.” “On my faith, no, sir. I believed him at Colorno. Whither is he vanished?” “To the devil--to Vienna--to anywhere, for what I care, so he remains to shock our sense of decorum no longer. Truth is the rascal claimed too many of the prerogatives of the troubadour--free sport among the petticoats for one. The scandal grew notorious. There was a wench, for instance--but ware, bully-boy! I tread on dangerous ground.” “_My_ ground, sir?” “How he threats us with his brow! Spare us, good Charlot--I but quote the common report. Yet admit the fellow had an endearing way with him.” “Curse him!” La Coque was half caught in the snare of his own setting. He stood glowering sulkily, while Don Philip, with a little stealthy sidelong glance at his daughter, turned with a snigger to some other of his suite. A flush of colour to her cheek; a just perceptible lift of the lip--the duke was scarce intelligent enough to read the signs.