did see the gladness and gratitude that shone in his eyes as they gazed on her, and a sigh unconsciously escaped her—a sigh, not for herself but for him.
They passed into a large vaulted chamber, the walls of white marble, the draperies and couches of scarlet, the matting a silken amber tissue, the ceiling in fresco with wreaths of grapes and pomegranates raised in gold, and at one end a lofty fountain flinging its spray up among flowers.
"Who is that?" muttered Laraxa. "A magnificent man, and she seems to favour him. Is he—pey?"
"No. He is a beggared Queen's Messenger. Besides—don't you rememher the name?—he was Count Conrad's Border Eagle. Take care what you say before him."
Laraxa lifted his eyebrows:
"Why, in Heaven's name, is he here?"
"Idalia's caprice! You remember, she saved his life; but take care—he may overhear."
"But if Conrad"
"Conrad is at Athens by now. Chut!"
The table was round, so that there was no place of precedence except the right hand of the hostess. The dinner was of as much sumptuousness and
