They met; Desiree ceased to struggle.
At that moment I heard a sound--the faintest sound--behind me.
I turned.
The king of the Incas was standing within the doorway, surveying
the lovers with beadlike, sparkling eyes.
Chapter XI.
A ROYAL VISITOR.
If it had not been for the manifest danger, I could have laughed
aloud at what I read in the eyes of the king. Was it not
supremely ridiculous for Desiree Le Mire, who had been sought
after by the great and the wealthy and the powerful of all
Europe, to be regarded with desire by that ugly dwarf? And it was
there, unmistakably.
I sang out a sharp warning, but it was unnecessary; Desiree had
already caught sight of the royal visitor. She pushed Harry from
her bodily. He sprang to his feet in angry surprise; then,
enlightened by the confusion in her face, turned quickly and
swore as he, too, saw the intruder.
How critical the situation was I did not know, despite Desiree's
assertions. His eyes were human and easily read; they held
jealousy; and when power is jealous there is danger.
But Desiree proved herself equal to the occasion. She remained
seated on the granite couch for a long minute without moving;
confusion left her eyes as she gazed at us apparently with the
utmost composure; but I who knew her could see that her brain was
working with the rapidity of lightning.
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