"It was an unwarrantable liberty, Madam," I cried, with a flush of anger. She laughed at my indignation.
"But it was more than an emblem of devotion, for it carried in its soft, sweet petals the essence—of instant death. You know these things are common in this East of ours. One scent of that rose, enjoyed, no doubt, with a murmur of your name, and a thought of your welcome little courtesy—and I and my Prince were rid of her forever." A light of malignant triumph flashed out of her large dangerous eyes as she finished: "I shall not need your dagger now, nor the other weapons of your trade."
"You mean that the Princess is dead?" I asked quietly.
"The news will soon be spread abroad noisily enough; and you may find it sufficiently embarrassing to explain your share in it."
"You have the malice of a devil."
"It was a sweet death for her. Was I not right when I said I was merciful?" she cried, with another hateful laugh. "And now I have come to warn you, that you may fly if you wish while there is yet time." She gloated in triumph over my silence, which she read as that of consternation.
"You are a brave woman," I said at length. "If what you said were true you might have guessed that you would not leave this house alive."
"It is true," she cried daringly.
"Yes, as to intent, perhaps. But the Princess herself is safe, and here in this house waiting to see you."
"It is false," she said fiercely. "I don't believe you;" and she stared at me, the veritable type of disconcerted fury.
"It is true," I replied shortly; adding sternly: "And
