one throughout the night just past? It was the first time she
had seen him, except at a distance, since the day she arrived in
Queretaro, for she had chosen, and perhaps maliciously, to disconcert
the tongue of slander. Hence she could not picture the ravages of
sickness and anxiety, until now when she beheld his haggard face. It was
one to bring a pang. The cheeks were hollow, the lines sharply drawn,
and the skin was white, so very white, with never a fleck of pink
remaining. And staring from the wasted flesh were the eyes, large and
round and faded blue, and in them an appealing, a haunted look. But they
softened at sight of her, as though comforted already.

"A reprieve is best," he said. "You cannot think that I want a pardon,
now that, that _she_ is dead!"

"But sire----"

"'Sire'? Ah, my lady, you are a little late, by something like a few
hundred years. You see our American was right after all; a letter no
longer makes a king."

It was a bon mot that Maximilian had always enjoyed, it being his own,
but this time he was most zealously in earnest.

"Monsieur, then," she said, in no mood for reforms of etiquette. "Only,
let me talk! We have three days, three days which are to be used. Your
Highness must escape!"

But now she understood him less than before, for he only smiled wearily.
It was, then, something else than fear that had broken him so.

Escape? And that guard in the corridor? Passing, ever passing, the
diabolical humorist seemed to chuckle inwardly, as though to stand
death-watch were the most exquisite of jokes.

"That man?" whispered Jacqueline. "Why, that's Don Tiburcio. He was
driven out of the Imperialist ranks by Father Fischer. But from his
lips, this very night, Your Highness will hear that the road is open to
Vera Cruz. Ah sire--monsieur--we have been working, we others. There
will be horses ready, there will be a long ride, and then, you will
safely board an Austrian ship waiting for you."

Maximilian slowly shook his head. "No," he said, "I am ready to die,
as--as ready as I shall ever be."

"But the remaining years of your natural life, Your Highness counts them
as nothing! Yet you might live twice your present age!"

"My life--over again," he murmured dreamily.

"Of course, why not?"

"One year to redeem each year that has gone."

"Years of Destiny!" she cried, thinking to touch him there.

"No!" he exclaimed, so harshly and quick that it startled her. "But for
me they wil