“I will ask you to believe,” the Prince said slowly, “how sincerely I regret this unavoidable interference in a domestic happiness so touching.  Nevertheless, I have come for the Countess.  It is necessary that she returns to Dorset House this morning.”

“You will oblige me,” Mr. Sabin remarked, “by remembering that my wife is the Duchesse de Souspennier, and by so addressing her.”

The Prince spread out his hands—­a deprecating gesture.

“Alas!” he said, “for the present it is not possible.  Until the little affair upon which we are now engaged is finally disposed of it is necessary that Lucille should be known by the title which she bears in her own right, or by the name of her late husband, Mr. James B. Peterson.”

“That little affair,” Mr. Sabin remarked, “is, I presume, the matter which you have come to explain to me.”

The Prince smiled and shook his head.

“Explain!  My dear Duke, that is not possible.  It is not within your rights to ask questions or to require any explanation as to anything which Lucille is required to do by us.  You must remember that our claim upon her comes before yours.  It is a claim which she cannot evade or deny.  And in pursuance of it, Countess, I deeply regret having to tell you that your presence at Dorset House within the next hour is demanded.”

Lucille made no answer, but looked across the table at Mr. Sabin with a little grimace.

“It is a comedy,” she murmured.  “After all, it is a comedy!”

Mr. Sabin fingered his cigarette thoughtfully.

“I believe,” he said, “that the Duchess realises her responsibilities in this matter.  I myself have no wish to deny them.  As ordinary members we are both pledged to absolute obedience.  I therefore place no embargo upon the return of my wife to Dorset House.  But there are certain conditions, Prince, that considering the special circumstances of the case I feel impelled to propose.”

“I can recognise,” the Prince said, “no conditions.”

“They are very harmless,” Mr. Sabin continued calmly.  “The first is that in a friendly way, and of course under the inviolable law of secrecy, you explain to me for what part Lucille is cast in this little comedy; the next that I be allowed to see her at reasonable intervals, and finally that she is known by her rightful name as Duchesse de Souspennier.”

The forced urbanity which the Prince had assumed fell away from him without warning.  The tone of his reply was almost a sneer.

“I repeat,” he said, “that I can recognise no conditions.”

“It is perhaps,” Mr. Sabin continued, “the wrong word to use.  We submit to your authority, but you and I are well aware that your discretionary powers are large.  I ask you to use them.”

“And I,” the Prince said, “refuse.  Let me add that I intend to prevent any recurrence of your little adventure of last night.  Lucille shall not see you again until her task is over.  And as for you, my dear Duke, I desire only your absence.  I do not wish to hurt your feelings, but your name has been associated in the past with too many failures to inspire us with any confidence in engaging you as an ally.  Countess, a carriage from Dorset House awaits you.”