lowerorder. They were not envious of the people who went inside, these menin Court costume, these women of another world, daintily attired. Theydiscussed and admired the good looks of the men, the exquisite costumesof the women.
If the Court Chamberlain had suddenly appeared, and in the name of theirMajesties, bade them enter the Royal precincts in a spirit of perfectequality with the other guests, they would have been very embarrassedand, save for a few adventurous spirits, have declined the invitation.They would have felt out of place.
From what causes arose this antagonism amongst the clever extremists ofthe proletariat toward the more fortunate ones of the earth?
Moreno was puzzled to find a solution. Envy perhaps was thecontributing cause. And yet the ordinary man who dines at a commoneating-house is not always envious of the man who eats a sumptuousluncheon at the Ritz or Carlton. The middle-class prosperousprofessional man does not always gnash his teeth when he thinks of anobleman, possibly his client, who has a rent roll of a hundred thousanda year.
Moreno was very just. There was a time when he had had to fare veryfrugally, and he had not complained. Things had improved. When thefancy took him, he would indulge in a good dinner, a bottle ofchampagne, and an excellent cigar. Was he hurting the toiling millionsvery much if he occasionally indulged in these luxuries? Were the fewfortunate ones of the earth, and after all they were very few, hurtinghim if they indulged in them every day?
Night was slowly settling over the city. Far away from this scene ofrevel and display, some thousands of humble workers had eaten theirfrugal suppers, and were preparing for bed. If all the money that wasto be spent upon this function had been shared between them, would theyhave been much the richer? Champagne, excellent cigars, and gooddinners could not be given to every creature on God's earth. That wasan inexorable economic law, which no revolutionist could alter.
He was raised from his reveries by a light touch on his arm.
"Who are these two men?" It was Violet Hargrave who spoke. "Somehow,they look people of importance."
Moreno recognised them at once, as they drove slowly through--the Chiefof the Secret Service, the Head of the Police. He was glad that theywere on the scene early. They might not have quite the perfect methodsof the corresponding French organisations, but perhaps they wouldjustify themselves before the night was over.
"I don't know them from Adam, but, as you say, they certainly lookpersons of importance, especially the fat one."
Always suspicious, he wondered if Mrs Hargrave was trying to draw him,herself knowing who they were. Anyway, she had failed. He was not tobe caught by a leading question like that.
Then presently she nudged him. "Look, look, the Chief!"
Yes, it was Contraras, driving in a humble cab. His fine, lined faceshowed clear against the waning light.
"Wonderful man! The brains of sixty, the fire and energy of twenty!"said Moreno glibly. He spoke with all the enthusiasm of a true son ofthe Revolution.
Mrs Hargrave made no comment. Equipage after equipage rolled up,containing fair women and brave men. The Palace was one blaze of light.The crowd grew closer, enjoying the spectacle of the arriving guests,and it seemed a crowd that was at once good-humoured and appreciative,if at times critical.
Moreno turned to his companion. "I say, it's a bit of a shame that youand I are not inside instead of here, eh? I think Contraras might haveworked that while he was about it."
Mrs Hargrave smiled back; she was very attracted by this black-browedyoung Spaniard.
"My dear friend, under the new regime, we shall all go to Court."
"To the Court of Contraras, I suppose?"
"Something of that sort," answered Violet, letting herself go a little."And Madame Contraras, more aristocratic than any queen, will smilecondescendingly, and the pretty daughter will turn up her nose at us."
The conversation was getting dangerous. Mrs Hargrave must be checkedin her impulsive moods, which, he honestly admitted, were very rare.
"Ah, if I could see dear old Contraras in that position I would diehappy," he exclaimed, with a splendid mendacity.
Mrs Hargrave stole a quiet glance at him.
"Yes, he is very wonderful, is he not? But I can't honestly say I likehis womenkind. They have no sympathy with his aspirations."
As they were speaking, a very gorgeous carriage rolled up. It containedthe Duchess del Pineda and Valerie Delmonte. The Duke had notaccompanied them. He had pleaded indisposition, but probably prudencehad dictated his absence. Anyway, if certain things happened, it wouldbe possible for him to plead a successful _alibi_.
"Look, look!" cried Violet Hargrave, a little excitedly for her."Valerie Delmonte!"
Moreno, the kindly-hearted, felt a spasm of pity as he gazed on the faceof the handsome, fanatical young Frenchwoman, whom that wily oldContraras had subjugated to his evil will.
"Poor child!" he said aloud, for the benefit of his companion, "I canonly hope she will not lose her nerve. It was a man's job, but shewould insist upon having it."
There was a little lull in the procession of carriages. And then theredrove up one conveying Guy Rossett and a colleague. The Ambassador hadalready arrived, with his wife.
Moreno stole a glance at his companion. She was heavily veiled, but hecould see that her face had grown pale, that a sad look had come intoher eyes.
"Our admirable young diplomatist!" whispered the young man. "Well,Madrid is not a very safe place for him."
"But he is in no danger to-night I take it?" came back the answer in awhisper as low as his own.
"I should say not. For the present, we have left him out of ourcalculations; we are flying at higher game. He will hardly come withinthe sphere of Valerie's operations. His Chief may--I doubt even that."
Mrs Hargrave made no comment. Presently Moreno spoke in the same lowwhisper.
"You have no great affection for Mr Rossett, I take it?"
"No, I have not any great affection for Mr Rossett."
"And yet you were once very good friends."
Mrs Hargrave stiffened a little. "You seem to know a great deal of myprivate affairs. Yes, we once were very good friends. He knew myhusband long before I married him. I fancy I have told you that."
Moreno was not to be daunted by her aloof attitude. He was neverwanting in enterprise.
"I should not be surprised if, at the present moment, you hated him."
"Perhaps you are right," was the curt answer.
Moreno indulged in a quiet inward chuckle. If she had known that IsobelClandon was established so close to her lover, that through his adroitmanipulation of affairs they were meeting every day, her hatred musthave expressed itself more heartily.
Valerie Delmonte, under the wing of the unsuspecting Duchess, was nowwithin the Palace.
She had only once before looked upon a scene approaching this, and ithad been much less brilliant.
Once, early in their married life, her husband had taken her to one ofthe President's receptions in Paris. It was easy, in his position, tosecure the entree for himself and wife.
She remembered that evening well. Never had she felt more humiliated.Half a dozen times kind old Monsieur Varenne had introduced her to someof his acquaintances. There was a formal bow interchanged, and nothingbeyond; one and all they had sheered off. Even in a republican anddemocratic country, these purse-proud citizens would have nothing to dowith the girl who had come from the music halls.
She recalled how, when she had reached home that night, she had burstinto a fit of wild sobbing, and her kindly, elderly husband had tried tocomfort her.
"Calm thyself, _ma cherie_, we will not go to these hateful placesagain. We will lead our own life."
To-night, how different. A Court, one of the oldest in Europe,reflecting that atmosphere of pomp and state associated with longdescended Royalty. The kindly young King, his British-born Queen,chatting graciously with their favoured guests. Men in resplendentuniforms and ord
ers, great ladies of the highest Spanish nobility, whata contrast to the homely reception of the President in those far-offdays!
Then she had been escorted by a very wealthy but somewhat shadyfinancier, whose influence had not been sufficient to enable her toscale the social heights to which she had aspired.
To-night she was under the wing of a popular chaperon, in whose veinsran the proudest blood of Spain. The Duchess, acting according toinstructions, introduced her to everybody she came across.
Mademoiselle Delmonte, handsome, brilliant, and vivacious, was animmediate success. This aristocratic assemblage, ignorant of herantecedents, only recognising that she was under the wing of the popularDuchess, took her at her real valuation.
Being a woman, she was naturally pleased with her momentary success.But she was sensible enough to know to what she owed it. If thesepeople who were flattering her now had known of