"The person whom you saw was a gentleman
from my suite, who wore the dress of an inferior mandarin. He is
sometimes supposed to resemble me. I should have believed that your
apprehension of such things would have informed you that no Prince of my
line would wear the garments of his order for a public show."
Her fingers had left the drawer now. She stood upright, pale and
desperate.
"That woman of your country, then--La Belle Nita--did she lie to me?"
"How can I tell?" he answered coldly, "because I do not know what she
said."
Maggie made an effort to test her position.
"I came here as a thief," she confessed. "I am detected. What are your
intentions?"
He moved very slowly a little closer to her. Maggie felt her sense of
excitement grow.
"You came here as a thief," he repeated, "as a spy. Why did you not ask
me for the information you desired?"
"Because you would not have told me," she replied, "at least you would
not have told me the truth."
"For a price," he said, "the truth would have been yours for the asking.
For a different price it is yours now."
Again without noticeable movement he seemed to have drawn nearer. The
edge of that cool ebony cabinet seemed to be burning her fingers. Try
however hard, she could not frame the question which had risen to her
lips.
"The price," he continued, "is you--yourself. A few hours ago it was
your love I craved for. Now it is yourself."
He was so near to her now that she faced the steady radiance of his
wonderful eyes, so near that she could trace the faint lines about his
mouth, the strong, stern immobility of his perfectly shaped,
olive-tinted features.
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