There was, however, altogether a different meaning in these surreptitious glances.

In the one there were interest, doubt, admiration; in the other, cold calculation.

At no time did the conversation touch politics, and the crown was a thousand miles away--if surface indications went for aught.
Finally the Colonel rose.

"A toast--to Madame the duchess, since this is her very best wine!" Maurice emptied his glass fast enough; but Fitzgerald lowered his eyes and made no movement to raise his glass.

The pupils in Madame's eyes grew small.
"That is scarcely polite, Monsieur," she said.
"Madame," he replied gently, "my parole did not include toasts to her Highness.