"No," declared the prince.
"It _must_ be destroyed."
"_Must? Must?_ Do you say _must to me?_"
"Yes, _must_," she repeated steadily.
"And by what authority, please, do--"
"By that authority!" She drew a tiny, filigreed gold box from her bosom
and cast it upon the table; the prince stared at it. "In the name of
your sovereign--_must_!" she said again.
The prince turned away and began pacing, back and forth across the room
with the parchment crumpled in his hand. For a minute or more Isabel
stood watching him.
"Thirteen minutes!" Mr. Grimm announced coldly.
And now broke out an excited chatter, a babel of French, English,
Italian, Spanish; those masked and cowled ones who had held silence for
so long all began talking at once. One of them snatched at the crumpled
compact in the prince's hand, while all crowded around him arguing. Mr.
Grimm sat perfectly still with the revolver barrel resting on his knees.
"Eleven minutes!" he announced again.
Suddenly the prince turned violently on Miss Thorne with rage-distorted
face.
"Do you know what it means to you if I do as you say?" he demanded
savagely.
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