An hour passed, and two hours, and still he sat in his chair, while Masin came and went softly, as if his master were ill.  Then reporters sent up cards, with urgently polite requests to be received, and he had to give orders that he was not to be disturbed on any account.  He would see no one, he would answer no questions, until he had made up his mind what to do.

At last he rose, shook himself, walked twice up and down the room and then spoke to Masin.

“I am going out,” he said.  “I shall be back in an hour.”

He had seen that there was at least one thing which he must do at once, and after stopping short, stunned to stupor by what had happened, his life began to move on again.  It was manifestly his duty to see the Princess again, and he knew that she would receive him, for she would think that he had changed his mind after all, and meant to free himself.  He must see her and say something, he knew not what, to convince her that he was acting honourably.

He was shown to her sitting-room, as if he were expected.  It was not long since the ambassador had left her and her daughter had gone back to her room, and she was in a humour in which he had not seen her before, as he guessed when he saw her face.  Her wonderful complexion was paler than usual, her brows were drawn together, her eyes were angry, there was nothing languid or careless in her attitude, and she held her head high.

“I expected you,” she said.  “I sent word that you were to come up at once.”

She did not even put out her hand, but there was a chair opposite her and she nodded towards it.  He sat down, feeling that a struggle was before him.

“The ambassador has just been here,” she said.  “He brought the newspaper with him, and I have read the article.  I suppose you have seen it.”

Malipieri bent his head, but kept his eyes upon her.

“I have told the ambassador that Sabina is engaged to marry you,” she said calmly.

Malipieri started and sat upright in his chair.  If he had known her better, he might have guessed that what she said was untrue, as yet; but she had made the statement with magnificent assurance.

“Your engagement will be announced in the papers this evening,” she continued.  “Shall you deny it?”

She looked at him steadily, and he returned her gaze, but for a long time he could not answer.  She had him at a terrible advantage.

“I shall not deny it publicly,” he said at last.  “That would be an injury to your daughter.”

“Shall you deny it at all?” She was conscious of her strong position, and meant to hold it.

“I shall write to the lady who is living under my name, and I shall tell her the circumstances, and that I am obliged to allow the announcement to be made by you.”

“Give me your word that you will not deny your engagement to any one else.  You know that I have a right to require that.  My daughter knows that you are married.”