who will be dwarfed by it? There will be laughter; whom will
it souse? There will be scandal; who will be splashed by it? The
Princess or the King?"

Maria Vittoria stood with her brows drawn together in a frown. "I will
not go," she said after a pause. "Never was there so presumptuous a
request. No, I will not."

Wogan made his bow and retired. But he was at the Caprara Palace again
in the morning, and again he was admitted. He noticed without regret
that Maria Vittoria bore the traces of a restless night.

"What should I say if I went with you?" she asked.

"You would say why the King lingers in Spain."

Maria Vittoria gave a startled look at Wogan.

"Do you know why?"

"You told me yesterday."

"Not in words."

"There are other ways of speech."

That one smile of triumph had assured Wogan that the King's delay was
her doing and a condition of their parting.

"How will my story, though I told it, help?" asked Mlle. de Caprara.
Wogan had no doubts upon that score. The story of the Chevalier and
Maria Vittoria had a strong parallel in Clementina's own history.
Circumstance and duty held them apart, as it held apart Clementina and
Wogan himself. In hearing Maria Vittoria's story, Clementina would hear
her own; she must be moved to sympathy with it; she would regard with
her own generous eyes those who played unhappy parts in its
development; she could have no word of censure, no opportunity for
scorn.

"Tell the story," said Wogan. "I will warrant the result."

"No, I will not go," said she; and again Wogan left the house. And again
he came the next morning.

"Why should I go?" said Maria Vittoria, rebelliously. "Say what you have
said to me to her! Speak to her of the ignominy which will befall the
King! Tell her how his cause will totter! Why talk of this to me? If she
loves the King, your words will persuade her. For on my life they have
nearly persuaded me."

"If she loves the King!" said Wogan, quietly, and Maria Vittoria stared
at him. There was something she had not conjectured before.

"Oh, she does not love him!" she said in wonderment. Her wonderment
swiftly changed to contempt. "The fool! Let her go on her knees and pray
for a modest heart. There's my message to her. Who is she that she
should not love him?" But it nevertheless altered a trifle pleasurably
Maria Vittoria's view of the position. It was pain to her to contemplate
the Chevalier's marriage, a deep, gnawing, rancorous pain, but