For more than a minute we stood there together; and I, even with my arm
about her, summoned up what honour and conscience her beauty and the
toils that I was in had left me.
"Flavia," I said, in a strange dry voice that seemed not my own, "I am
not--"
As I spoke--as she raised her eyes to me--there was a heavy step on the
gravel outside, and a man appeared at the window. A little cry burst
from Flavia, as she sprang back from me. My half-finished sentence died
on my lips. Sapt stood there, bowing low, but with a stern frown on his
face.
"A thousand pardons, sire," said he, "but his Eminence the Cardinal has
waited this quarter of an hour to offer his respectful adieu to your
Majesty."
I met his eye full and square; and I read in it an angry warning. How
long he had been a listener I knew not, but he had come in upon us in
the nick of time.
"We must not keep his Eminence waiting," said I.
But Flavia, in whose love there lay no shame, with radiant eyes and
blushing face, held out her hand to Sapt. She said nothing, but no
man could have missed her meaning, who had ever seen a woman in the
exultation of love. A sour, yet sad, smile passed over the old soldier's
face, and there was tenderness in his voice, as bending to kiss her
hand, he said:
"In joy and sorrow, in good times and bad, God save your Royal
Highness!"
He paused and added, glancing at me and drawing himself up to military
erectness:
"But, before all comes the King--God save the King!"
And Flavia caught at my hand and kissed it, murmuring:
"Amen! Good God, Amen!"
We went into the ballroom again.
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