t is not necessary to contemplate violence.
There are other methods. The boy could be taken over the border, and
hidden until the Republic is firmly established. After that, he is
unimportant."

The Countess, still pale, looked at him scornfully. "You do my
intelligence small honor."

"Where peaceful methods will avail, our methods are peaceful, madame."

"It was, then, in peace that you murdered Prince Hubert?"

"The errors of the past are past." Then, with a new sternness: "Make
no mistake. Whether through your agency or another, Countess, when the
Cathedral bell rouses the city to the King's death, and the people wait
in the Place for their new King to come out on the balcony, he will not
come."

The Countess was not entirely bad. Standing swaying and white-faced
before the tribunal, she saw suddenly the golden head of the little
Crown Prince, saw him smiling as he had smiled that day in the sunlight,
saw him troubled and forlorn as he had been when, that very evening, he
had left them to go to his lonely rooms. Perhaps she reached the biggest
moment of her life then, when she folded her arms and stared proudly at
the shrouded figures before her.

"I will not do it," she said.

Then indeed the tribunal stirred, and sat forward. Perhaps never before
had it been defied.

"I will not," repeated the Countess.

But Number Seven remained impassive. "A new idea, Countess!" he said
suavely. "I can understand that your heart recoils. But this thing is
inevitable, as I have said. Whether you or another but perhaps with time
to think you may come to another conclusion. We make no threats. Our
position is, however, one of responsibility. We are compelled to place
the future of the Republic before every other consideration."

"That is a threat."

"We remember both our friends and our enemies, madame. And we have only
friends and enemies. There is no middle course. If you would like time
to think it over--"

"How much time?" She clutched at the words.

With time all things were possible. The King might die soon, that night,
the next day. Better than any one, save his daughter Annunciata and the
physicians, she knew his condition. The Revolutionists might boast, but
they were not all the people. Once let the boy be crowned, and it would
take more than these posing plotters in their theatrical setting to
overthrow him.

"How much time may I have?"

"Women vary," said Number Seven mockingly. "Some determine quickl