“Very readily, sir; the gallery was so designed that its noises would not disturb those in the dining-room.”

“We are in good luck, Bernheim,” I said.

“We shall need all of it, sir, with eight spectators.”

And he was right.  It was foolish to risk success for only a sentimental reason.  I knew, perfectly well, the proper course was for no one but the King and myself to be in the gallery; yet, there entered my Dalberg stubbornness.  I purposed that some of those, who had seen me accused that night on the Hanging Garden, should see me exculpated to-night.

It may be, that some will question the propriety of my action, and the good taste of those who were my guests.  As to the latter, it must be borne in mind that my invitation was in the nature of a command, which it would have been vastly discourteous to decline.  And, besides, they were my friends.  As for myself, I have no excuses to offer—­and, methinks, I need none.  The situation had long passed the refinement of ethics.  It was war; and war not of my declaring.  Neither was I responsible for the style of the campaign.  Madeline Spencer deserved no consideration from me—­and no more did her visitor.

XXIV

THE END OF THE PLAY

I had, yet, an hour to spare, so Bernheim and I returned to the Epsau.  I donned the evening uniform of the Red Huzzars, with the broad Ribbon of the Lion across my breast and the Cincinnati around my neck.  I was minded to be the Dalberg Archduke to-night.

Then, having dispatched Bernheim to the Palace to escort the King and the Princess, I drove to the Metzen, where Gerst piloted me, by private corridors, to the apartments reserved for me, and which adjoined the Gallery.

The King and the Princess were the last to arrive.  As I greeted them, Dehra detained me.

“Shall we be able to see as well as hear?” she asked.

“Yes,” said I, “if you wish.”

“I do wish,” she said.  “I’m savage to-night.”

I laughed.  “It’s very becoming, dear.”

Then the great bell of the Cathedral began to chime the hour; and, with a word of caution, I led the way to the Gallery.

The floor was covered with a thick carpet and eight small chairs were placed close to the railing.  The tapestry was very old and thin and, by putting one’s face close to it, the room below was rather dimly, yet quite sufficiently, visible.  Its dimensions were unusually ample—­possibly forty feet by sixty—­and its furnishings most gorgeous.  The chandelier and side-lights were burning, and a huge vase lamp, pink shaded, was on the large table in the centre.  At the moment, the room was untenanted.

In a little while a door opposite the Gallery opened and Madeline
Spencer entered.

A woman usually knows her good points physically and how to bring them out.  And Mrs. Spencer was an adept in the art—­though, in truth, little art was needed.  To her, Nature had been over generous.