But after all, the effect was only momentary.  Almost as quickly as those strange fumes had arisen they were dissipated.  And when presently Amory stood up unsteadily from the seat of the window, he could see clearly enough that Jarvo, with terrified eyes, was turning the vase in his hands.

“It is the same,” he was saying, “it must be the same.  The gods have permitted the possible.  I was here to tell you.”

“Tell me what?” demanded Amory with ungrateful irritation.  “Is the stuff poison?” he asked, tottering in spite of himself as he crossed the floor toward him.  But Jarvo turned his face, and upon it was such an incongruous terror that Amory involuntarily stood still.

“There are known to be two,” said Jarvo, holding the vase at arm’s length, “and the one is abundant life, if the draught is not over-measured.  But the other is ten thousand times worse than death.”

“What do you mean?” cried Amory roughly.  “What are you talking about?  If the stuff is poison can’t you say so?”

Jarvo looked at him swiftly.

“These things are not spoken aloud in Yaque,” he said simply, and after that he held his peace.  Amory threatened him and laughed at him, but Jarvo shook his head.  At last Amory scoffed at the whole matter and stretched out his hand for the vase.

“Come,” he said, “at all events I’ll take it with me.  It can’t be very much worse than the American liqueurs.”

“My word for it, sir, beggin’ your pardon,” said Rollo earnestly, “it’s a kind of what you might call med-i-eval Burgundy, sir.”

“It is not well,” said Jarvo, handing the vase with reluctance, “yet take it—­but see that it touches no lips.  I charge you that, adon.”

Amory smiled and slipped the little vase in his coat pocket.

“It’s all right,” he said, “I won’t let it get away from me.  I can find my legs now; I’ll go back down.  Look sharp, Rollo.  Be down there with the oil-skins.  We put on this Tyrian purple stuff over the whole outfit,” he explained to Jarvo, “and I suppose, you know, that you can get both robes back here for us, if we escape in them?”

“Assuredly, adon,” said Jarvo, “and you must escape without delay.  This wine must mean that the prince, too, wishes you harm.  Now let me be before you for a little, so that no one may see us together.  I shall go now, immediately, to the motor—­it is waiting already by the wall on the side of the courtyard opposite the windows of the banquet hall.  I shall not fail you.”

“On the side of the courtyard opposite the windows of the banquet room,” repeated Amory.  “Thanks, Jarvo.  You’re all kinds of a good fellow.”

“Yes, adon,” gravely assented the little man from the threshold.

Ten minutes later Amory followed.  Already Rollo had packed the oil-skins, and Amory, his nerves steadied and the excitement of all that the night promised come upon him, hurried before him down the corridor, his thoughts divided in their allegiance between the delight of telling St. George what was toward, and the new and alluring delight of seeing Antoinette Frothingham near at hand in the banquet room.  After all, he had had only the vaguest glimpse of a little figure in rose and silver, and he doubted if he could tell her from the princess, but for the interpreting gown.