She had just left her toilet, and was still in the morning negligee worn during that prolonged and public ceremonial.  Freshly perfumed and powdered, her eyes bright, her lips set in a nervous smile, she curiously recalled the arrogant child who had snatched her spaniel away from him years ago in that same room.  And was she not that child, after all?  Had she ever grown beyond the imperious instincts of her youth?  It seemed to him now that he had judged her harshly in the first months of their marriage.  He had felt a momentary impatience when he had tried to force her roving impulses into the line of his own endeavour:  it was easier to view her leniently now that she had almost passed out of his life.

He wondered why she had sent for him.  Some dispute with her household, doubtless; a quarrel with a servant, even—­or perhaps some sordid difficulty with her creditors.  But she began in a new key.

“Your Highness,” she said, “is not given to taking my advice.”

Odo looked at her in surprise.  “The opportunity is not often accorded me,” he replied with a smile.

Maria Clementina made an impatient gesture; then her face softened.  Contradictory emotions flitted over it like the reflections cast by a hurrying sky.  She came close to him and then drew away and seated herself in the high-backed chair where she had throned when he first saw her.  Suddenly she blushed and began to speak.

“Once,” she said in a low, almost inaudible voice, “I was able to give your Highness warning of an impending danger—­” She paused and her eyes rested full on Odo.

He felt his colour rise as he returned her gaze.  It was her first allusion to the past.  He had supposed she had forgotten.  For a moment he remained awkwardly silent.

“Do you remember?” she asked.

“I remember.”

“The danger was a grave one.  Your Highness may recall that but for my warning you would not have been advised of it.”

“I remember,” he said again.

She paused a moment.  “The danger,” she repeated, “was a grave one; but it threatened only your Highness’s person.  Your Highness listened to me then; will you listen again if I advise you of a greater—­a peril threatening not only your person but your throne?”

Odo smiled.  He could guess now what was coming.  She had been drilled to act as the mouthpiece of the opposition.  He composed his features and said quietly:  “These are grave words, madam.  I know of no such peril—­but I am always ready to listen to your Highness.”

His smile had betrayed him, and a quick flame of anger passed over her face.

“Why should you listen to me, since you never heed what I say?”

“Your Highness has just reminded me that I did so once—­”

“Once!” she repeated bitterly.  “You were younger then—­and so was I!” She glanced at herself in the mirror with a dissatisfied laugh.  Something in her look and movement touched the springs of compassion.