"At midnight?" asked the king.
"Yes," said the princess.
The king looked at his watch. It was half-past eleven. "Will you rest in
my pavilion, princess, until the time comes?"
Louis conducted the princess into the tent, where he was followed by his
escort. As they did so, Gonzague, coming slowly down the avenue, watched
them thoughtfully. It was strange, indeed, to see his wife in such a
place and in such company. It was strange to feel that her passive
hostility through all these years was now turned suddenly into action.
"Bah!" he said to himself; "it is my word against that of an adventurer
who has hidden for twenty years."
Peyrolles, pushing his way through the crowd and peering to right and
left, caught sight of his master and hurriedly joined him. "Well," said
Gonzague, "have you found the girl?"
Peyrolles made a gesture of despair. "We have searched Paris without
success. Not a sign of her, nor of him."
Gonzague frowned. "She must be here. If she be the real child, the
princess may recognize her."
"And all is lost," said Peyrolles, with a groan.
Gonzague almost smiled. "No. We will charge Lagardere with having
assassinated the father and stolen the child for his own ends. He shall
be hanged out of hand. Doña Flora will seem the commendable error of my
over-zealous heart, and as for the new princess--well, even princesses
are mortal."
Peyrolles had always admired his master, but never perhaps so much as
now. "Your Excellency is a man of genius," he said, enthusiastically.
Gonzague smiled. "Forethought, my good Peyrolles--only forethought. But
it would save trouble if the girl were out of the way."