The few words which Marguerite Blakeney had managed to read on thehalf-scorched piece of paper, seemed literally to be the words of Fate."Start myself tomorrow. . . ." This she had read quite distinctly; thencame a blur caused by the smoke of the candle, which obliterated thenext few words; but, right at the bottom, there was another sentence,like letters of fire, before her mental vision, "If you wish to speakto me again I shall be in the supper-room at one o'clock precisely."The whole was signed with the hastily-scrawled little device--a tinystar-shaped flower, which had become so familiar to her.
One o'clock precisely! It was now close upon eleven, the last minuetwas being danced, with Sir Andrew Ffoulkes and beautiful Lady Blakeneyleading the couples, through its delicate and intricate figures.
Close upon eleven! the hands of the handsome Louis XV. clock upon itsormolu bracket seemed to move along with maddening rapidity. Two hoursmore, and her fate and that of Armand would be sealed. In two hours shemust make up her mind whether she will keep the knowledge so cunninglygained to herself, and leave her brother to his fate, or whethershe will wilfully betray a brave man, whose life was devoted to hisfellow-men, who was noble, generous, and above all, unsuspecting. Itseemed a horrible thing to do. But then, there was Armand! Armand, too,was noble and brave, Armand, too, was unsuspecting. And Armand lovedher, would have willingly trusted his life in her hands, and now, whenshe could save him from death, she hesitated. Oh! it was monstrous;her brother's kind, gentle face, so full of love for her, seemed tobe looking reproachfully at her. "You might have saved me, Margot!" heseemed to say to her, "and you chose the life of a stranger, a man youdo not know, whom you have never seen, and preferred that he should besafe, whilst you sent me to the guillotine!"
All these conflicting thoughts raged through Marguerite's brain, while,with a smile upon her lips, she glided through the graceful mazes of theminuet. She noted--with that acute sense of hers--that she had succeededin completely allaying Sir Andrew's fears. Her self-control hadbeen absolutely perfect--she was a finer actress at this moment, andthroughout the whole of this minuet, than she had ever been upon theboards of the Comedie Francaise; but then, a beloved brother's life hadnot depended upon her histrionic powers.
She was too clever to overdo her part, and made no further allusions tothe supposed BILLET DOUX, which had caused Sir Andrew Ffoulkes such anagonising five minutes. She watched his anxiety melting away under hersunny smile, and soon perceived that, whatever doubt may have crossedhis mind at the moment, she had, by the time the last bars of theminuet had been played, succeeded in completely dispelling it; he neverrealised in what a fever of excitement she was, what effort it cost herto keep up a constant ripple of BANAL conversation.
When the minuet was over, she asked Sir Andrew to take her into the nextroom.
"I have promised to go down to supper with His Royal Highness," shesaid, "but before we part, tell me . . . am I forgiven?"
"Forgiven?"
"Yes! Confess, I gave you a fright just now. . . . But remember, I amnot an English woman, and I do not look upon the exchanging of BILLETDOUX as a crime, and I vow I'll not tell my little Suzanne. But now,tell me, shall I welcome you at my water-party on Wednesday?"
"I am not sure, Lady Blakeney," he replied evasively. "I may have toleave London to-morrow."
"I would not do that, if I were you," she said earnestly; then seeingthe anxious look reappearing in his eyes, she added gaily; "No one canthrow a ball better than you can, Sir Andrew, we should so miss you onthe bowling-green."
He had led her across the room, to one beyond, where already His RoyalHighness was waiting for the beautiful Lady Blakeney.
"Madame, supper awaits us," said the Prince, offering his arm toMarguerite, "and I am full of hope. The goddess Fortune has frowned sopersistently on me at hazard, that I look with confidence for the smilesof the goddess of Beauty."
"Your Highness has been unfortunate at the card tables?" askedMarguerite, as she took the Prince's arm.
"Aye! most unfortunate. Blakeney, not content with being the richestamong my father's subjects, has also the most outrageous luck. By theway, where is that inimitable wit? I vow, Madam, that this life would bebut a dreary desert without your smiles and his sallies."
CHAPTER XIV ONE O'CLOCK PRECISELY!