The elegant attachÉ of the Secretary for Foreign Affairs bowed, saying:

"I am extremely sorry to bring your Majesty this bad news."

A voice from the depth of the cushions inquired:

"What bad news?"

"I am telling your Majesty that it would be difficult—even impossible for you to go to the Longchamps races as you had the intention of doing."

"And why not?"

"The President of the Republic opens to-day the exposition at the Bagatelle Museum. If your Majesty went to the Bois de Boulogne you would run the risk of meeting him. You would then be obliged to stop and talk a few moments, but as this interview has not been foreseen and arranged for it would be very awkward."

"That is true."

"That is all I had to convey to your Majesty."

"Let me see, what is your name, Monsieur?"

"I am Count Adhemar de CandiÈres, your Majesty."

"Well, Count, many thanks! You may retire."

The Count gracefully bowed himself out and with a convulsive movement of the cushions Jerome Fandor sprang up and burst out laughing.

"Ah!" he cried, "I thought that chap would never go! Your Majesty!... Sire ... the King ... pleasant names to be called when you're not accustomed to them. I've already had twenty-four hours of it, and if it goes on much longer I shall begin to think it's not a joke.

"And the King himself, what's become of him ... what is Frederick-Christian II doing now ... that's something I'd like to find out."

The journalist had indeed sufficient food for thought. From the dawn of New Year's Day he had gone from surprise to surprise. At first he thought he had been brought to the Royal Palace Hotel at the instigation of the King. That would have been the simple solution of the affair. The King must have realized the awkward predicament in which his companion was placed and in spite of his drunken stupor he would come to his assistance as soon as possible. As a matter of fact, Fandor had been set at liberty. The journalist therefore had waited patiently for the arrival of the King, who was unaccountably late.

Then little by little it began to dawn on him that the hotel people were considering him not as a friend of the King but as the King himself! Under ordinary circumstances, he would at once have made his identity known, but against that there were now a multitude of objections. His presence in the apartment of the murdered Susy d'Orsel had created an ambiguous and disagreeable situation. Again, was the personnel of the hotel really duped by the substitution?

The situation was becoming more and more difficult for Fandor. He realized that he was being watched. The evening before one of the clerks of the Royal Palace Hotel had informed him that his Majesty's automobile was ready. For a moment Fandor did not know what to do, but finally decided to take a chance for an outing. As soon as he had come downstairs he regretted his decision. Among the persons lounging in the lobby he recognized five or six detectives whom he had known and he realized that the police would have accurate information as to where he might go. On reaching the door he saw three or four automobiles lined up outside. Which one belonged to the King? Faced by this situation he acted without hesitation, he turned quickly and went back to the Royal apartment, where during the rest of the evening he had been left in peace. The following morning he awoke with a violent headache, and applied the usual remedy for the neuralgia to which he was subject. He bound up his head with a large silk scarf which he found in the Royal wardrobe. During the course of the morning his hotel bill was brought to him, which amounted to four thousand francs.

"Pretty stiff," he muttered, "for three days' stay. It may be all right for Frederick-Christian II, but for a poor devil of a journalist it is rather awkward."

Fandor was wondering what he should do about it when the telephone rang to announce a visitor. After listening at the receiver, his face suddenly lighted with a broad smile.

"Show him up," he answered.

Several moments afterwards a man entered the apartment He was about forty and wore the conventional frock coat and light gloves.

"I am," he said, "the private secretary of the Comptoir National de CrÉdit and am at your Majesty's disposition for the settlement of accounts. Your Majesty will excuse our sub-director for not having come himself to take your orders as it is his pleasure and honor generally to do, but he has been ill for several days and that is why I have begged permission for this audience with your Majesty."

Fandor with difficulty repressed his desire to laugh and congratulated himself that he had escaped the danger of being shown up by the sub-director who knew the real King. The Secretary brought with him a large sum of money which he placed at the disposal of the sovereign. For a moment Fandor was tempted to accept the money but his scruples held him back. If things should turn out badly it would not do to lay himself open to the charge of usurping the Royal funds as well as the personality of the King. So he limited himself to handing over the hotel bill, saying:

"Kindly settle this without delay and don't stint yourself with the tips."

A little later a porter entered with newspapers. Fandor seized them eagerly, but after a single glance he could not repress a movement of impatience.

"These idiots," he growled to himself, "always bring me the Hesse-Weimar papers, and I don't know a confounded word of German. What I would like to get hold of is a copy of La Capitale."

He rang the bell intending to give the order for a copy to be sent up, but at that moment a servant announced:

"Mlle. Marie Pascal is here, your Majesty."

"What does she want?"

The servant handed Fandor a letter.

"Your Majesty has granted an interview to her."

Without thinking the journalist asked: "Is she pretty?"

The employÉ of the Royal Palace kept a straight face. He was too much in the habit of dealing with royal patrons. The King might joke as much as he pleased, but the same liberty was not granted to others. He therefore made a deep bow and said with a tone of profound deference:

"I will send Marie Pascal to your Majesty."