"Nothing for the present, I'm afraid. Wait and let your husband decide for you, because I honestly don't know what to advise."

The answer came that very evening in the person of Prince Corrado, who arrived a little before sunset while Marianne was taking a gentle stroll in the garden on Jolival's arm. The blue mosaic paths were covered now with fallen leaves that rustled with a dry, papery sound as the hem of her dress brushed over them.

Corrado bowed to Marianne with his habitual frigid politeness and then clasped Jolival's hand.

"I was at home when your letter was brought to me," he said, "and I came at once. What has happened?"

In a few words the vicomte outlined to him the gist of what had passed between Marianne and Lady Hester Stanhope and of his own subsequent investigations. Corrado listened attentively and it was soon clear to Marianne that he was not taking the matter lightly. By the time Jolival had finished, the crease between his brows was mirrored on the prince's face.

"Lady Hester may have been exaggerating a good deal," the vicomte said at the end, "but then again, she may not. We have no means of finding out and we don't know what to do for the best."

Corrado thought for a moment.

"Exaggerated or not, the threat remains," he said at last. "We are obliged to take it seriously because with a man like Canning there is never any smoke without a fire. There must be a fair amount of truth in what you have been told." He turned to Marianne. "What do you want to do?"

"I don't want to do anything, Prince, except keep out of trouble. I think it is for you to decide for me, for are you not—are you not my husband?"

It was the first time she had used that word to him and it seemed to her that the shadow of some emotion disturbed the calm of the fine, dark-skinned face. But it was only for an instant, like a fleeting ripple on the smooth surface of a pool. Corrado bowed.

"I am obliged to you for remembering it at such a time. I should like to think of it as a mark of confidence—"

"And so it is, believe me."

"You will agree to abide by my decision?"

"I am asking you to make the decision, because I don't know what I should do. I wondered," she went on a little timidly, "whether I ought not to leave Constantinople perhaps—and sail to the Morea—or to France."

"No purpose would be served by that," the prince returned evenly. "It would be dangerous as well because you would run the risk of meeting the English fleet and this time you would not find it easy to escape. What is more, Captain Beaufort may well have left Monemvasia by now, and you might easily pass one another at sea and not know it."

All of which was depressingly true. Marianne bent her head so that the prince should not see the disappointment written all too clearly on her face. All afternoon she had been hugging the thought of a voyage to Greece that would serve to reunite her with Jason all the sooner.

Jolival guessed at her feelings and it was he who asked the next question:

"What, then?"

"Remain in Constantinople, only not in this house, of course. An abduction from Phanar would be too easy."

"Then where shall we go?"

"To my house—at Bebek."

He turned back to Marianne and, without giving her time to utter a word, continued very quickly: "I'm sorry to force this on you. You cannot wish it and I had hoped to spare you the need to share my roof, but it is the only way. You might ask Princess Morousi to shelter you on her estates at Arnavut Koy, it is true. Indeed, it is quite close to Bebek. But that would not avert the danger. It is the first place they would look for you and if Mr. Canning really has obtained the sultan's help in this the English could turn for help to the garrison of Roumeli Hissar, which is nearby."

"But it's even nearer to Bebek," Jolival objected.

The prince gave him a slow smile and his white teeth gleamed. "Yes—but who would think of looking for the Princess Sant'Anna in the house of Turhan Bey, the rich African merchant who is honored with the sultan's friendship?"

The irony of his words was not without a hint of bitterness but Marianne was beginning to think that where the prince was concerned it was better to keep her imagination under control. It was impossible to guess what his real thoughts or feelings were. Dressed in the eastern clothes which surely became him more than European garments would have done, he was still the same as he had been on Jason's ship—a marvelous figure of stone, with a control that would not break even under the lash. He was one of those who would die without uttering a sound. What he was saying at that moment, however, was not without interest.

"If you accept my offer a Turkish woman will come here tomorrow, at some time during the morning, ostensibly with a message for your hostess. She will have a boatman with her. You will change clothes with her and, disguised in the veil and ferej, you will leave here. The perama which brought her will carry you to my house. You need not be alarmed. The house is a very large one—I owe it to the generosity of the sultan—and my presence there will not intrude on you at all. There will also be someone there to care for you whom I hope you will be glad to see—my own dear Lavinia."

"Donna Lavinia? Here?" Marianne cried, filled with a sudden happiness at the thought of the old housekeeper who had been such a comfort and support to her at the time of her strange marriage and whose advice had helped her so much during those trying days at the Villa dei Cavalli.

The shadow of a smile passed over the prince's face.

"I sent for her when you agreed to keep the child, for it is she, and no one else, who will naturally have charge of him. She has just arrived and I was going to bring her to you. She is very eager to see you again. I—I believe that she is very fond of you."

"I love her, too, and—"

But Corrado was not to be drawn onto such dangerously emotional terrain. Turning to the vicomte, he went on: "I hope that you, Monsieur de Jolival, will also honor me by accepting my hospitality?"

Arcadius's bow was the epitome of politeness.

"I shall be very happy to do so. For you must know, Prince, that I rarely leave the princess, who is pleased to consider me as something between a mentor and a favorite uncle."

"The part suits you to perfection, never fear. Unfortunately, you will be obliged to live as quietly as the princess herself because if Canning guesses that she would never have flown without you he is bound to have you followed as soon as you show your nose in the city. Happily, I can offer you the use of an excellent library, some very good cigars and a cellar I am sure will meet with your approval, to say nothing of a beautiful garden, well hidden from prying eyes."

"That will suit me very well," Jolival assured him. "I have always dreamed of retiring to a monastery. Yours sounds just right."

"Good. Then you will begin your retreat tomorrow evening. Your best way to Bebek will be to go to the French embassy while it is still daylight, as you sometimes do, for a game of chess with Monsieur de Latour-Maubourg. You are in the habit of staying the night there, because no boats are allowed to cross the Golden Horn after sunset except those belonging to the sultan."

"That's true."

"This time you will leave again after dark. I'll come for you myself at midnight. I'll be waiting in the street. You only have to make up some excuse. Say that you are spending the night with friends in Pera or something of the sort. The main thing is to have you out of Stamboul before curfew."

"One more detail—if I may call Princess Morousi detail," Jolival said.

"Once you are both gone, she will make the biggest fuss she can—which is saying a good deal—lamenting your ingratitude in quitting her house in such cavalier fashion without taking the trouble even to inform her where you were going. No, don't worry, she will know all about it. In fact, she will be the only person besides myself and you to do so. I know that I can trust her absolutely."

"I'm quite sure of it," Marianne said. "But do you think Canning will be taken in by her outcry?"

"It doesn't matter whether he is or not. What does matter is that he does not know where you are. After a few days he is bound to think that you have taken fright and run away, and he will stop looking for you."

"I expect you are right. But there is still one thing to be thought of. What about the ship?"

"The Sea Witch! She will stay where she is until further developments. It was a mistake for the sultana to have our crest flown from the masthead. Very kind and thoughtful, certainly, but a mistake all the same. For tonight that flag must disappear. I'll replace it with the one flown by all my own ships."

"The one flown by your ships? Have you ships?"

"I told you I was known here as a rich merchant. In fact, that is precisely what I am. My ships fly a red pennant bearing a lion with a T-shaped torch in its paw. If you are willing for the brig to fly that flag, it will be thought in high places that you have sold her to me in order to obtain the money for your flight. And it will not stand in the way of Mr. Beaufort's recovering his property."

Marianne found herself at a loss for an answer. She was finding out that there was still a great deal she did not know about this amazing man whose name she bore. She had noticed a good many ships, xebecs and polaccas flying that curious flag with the flaming T on it in the harbor of Stamboul, but it had never occurred to her that they could belong to her husband. She began to think that it would be interesting to live for a time with such a man, quite apart from the promise of security it offered and the joy of finding Donna Lavinia again.