"I am so glad," she said as she stepped from the dais to greet him.

There was a generous simplicity of movement somewhat at variance with the haughty poise of her head. That Trusia, Duchess of Schallberg, was a very lovely young woman Carter found himself mentally confessing with no small degree of enthusiasm, while his heart warmed at her sweet effusiveness.

"Do you really and truly mean it?" she continued as she placed a small, firm palm in his, man-wise. "You have come all the way from that wonderful country of yours to join us?"

She clasped her hands at her neck in a sweet girlish gesture as he silently bowed his assent. He felt dazzled. Though accustomed to the society of high-bred women, he was at a loss for the first time in his experience; was unable to frame a simple affirmative. If, he thought, she would only turn away those wonderful eyes of hers for an instant, he felt confident of accomplishing a conversational commonplace at least.

The members of the Privy Council, following her lead, came forward to greet him. Carter devoutly prayed that this diversion might loosen his unruly member.

That no remark might escape his vigilant ears, Josef edged cautiously to the outskirts of the group now gathered around the Americans. Trusia espied him, and much against his desire haled him to the fore.

"You must make amends, sir," she prompted, though not unkindly, "for the annoyance you have caused Captain Carter."

"Your Highness," he said with a deferential bow, but unbending mind, "must accept my zeal in the cause as my justification." Trusia was much hurt at this intentional and undisguised evasion of her behest, as much on the strangers' as on her own account, so hastened to supplement such an ambiguous apology.

"Josef is indulged by us," she began deprecatingly, "because to his fidelity, loyalty and zeal, we are indebted for a royal leader for Krovitch, a man descended from our one-time kings of the day when Krovitch was great."

"But I thought," said the puzzled Carter, "that you were the only descendant of Augustus."

"I am." The little head was raised in imperial pride. "But King Stovik, though deposed, was the rightful sovereign, not my ancestor. The fugitive monarch left a scion whom Josef as a faithful servitor has attended from his infancy. Finding in recent events that the time was ripe for his crownless prince, he came to tell us that we had a king, if we dared to strike for him. He showed us proofs. We already had organization, men and money, but we sadly lacked a man for the struggle. My valorous people would have fought for me, poor as were my claims to the crown, founded on the wrong done another. Imagine how high their enthusiasm became on hearing that not only one of King Stovik's glorified stock, but a man—a young king—was to lead the ancient flag to victory. Russia, already dazed, can do nothing against the flame of my people's ardor."

"But the Almanac de Gotha," insisted Carter to whom the reference to the invisible king was a puzzling one.

"Knew nothing about King Stovik after his deposition and flight," she interrupted with a charming smile.

"Tell me the story, Your Grace," he pleaded, for he could feel instinctively that there was a story, an old world romance hidden here.

She held up a warning finger. "Be warned in time," she said, "it is a vulnerable point with me, one on which I am likely to be extremely prolix."

"You can but enhance the value of the legend," he replied with a bow. "I promise, Highness," he laughed, once more at his ease, "not to take the teeniest of naps."

Already deep in her recollections of her country's tribulations, her responsive smile was of one who dreamed. Inspiring scenes of tragic grandeur, the pageant of a nation's history wiped out in the groans of conquest, lit the beauty of her eyes. So must the Maid of Orleans have appeared to those who in awe listened to her. Softened by her translation into the world of inspiration, she turned to him.

"How I envy those who can wield the pen," she sighed. "I wish I could chronicle the story of the kings who have been safely hidden for generations. Patiently, devotedly, for two centuries have they waited for this day to dawn, the first opportunity that Krovitch has had to take back her own from the despoiler of Europe. The narrative from where general information ends," she continued, "briefly is as follows: King Stovik with his queen and infant son escaped by the connivance of a loyal nobleman on the midnight of the intended assassination of the overthrown dynasty. With two servants, husband and wife, who insisted on sharing the exile, he left Krovitch to find an asylum in a strange country, where caution led him to change his name. Certain it is that his subjects never learned the place of his retreat though they were well assured that his line was maintained in exile. After some years of silence, during which the heir apparent had reached a marriageable age, King Stovik sent again to his native land, to that nobleman in fact who had aided his escape, beseeching that from the maidens of noble birth a bride should be selected and sent back under the care of the messenger, who was none other than the faithful servant who had shared all the tribulations of the royal family. Bribes, threats, and coaxing of still loyal Krovitzers could not induce the faithful fellow to betray his master's hiding place. In fact on that, as on all similar embassies, in the generations that followed, her family bade farewell to their daughter, knowing not the place of her future home, nor her name, nothing but that she was to be the consort of their rightful king. So careful was Stovik in his banishment, that it became a hereditary rule not to permit the young bride to communicate with her family. Thus only could the never-dying hatred of Russia be avoided.

"Until my father's time this system has been maintained, always through the agency of the descendants of that pair of original servants, of whom Josef is the last. As a little child, I remember him first, when he came and claimed the hand of one of our most beautiful girls to share his master's banishment. Then, until recently, we had supposed the Line had become extinct, for no further missions came. Then he returned and offered to put a king at the head of our national movement. Nothing could have been a greater boon. Those who, for years, at all corners of the earth, had been striving for Krovitch, came flocking to her standards. Our joy was complete. Do you wonder, Captain Carter," she said gently, "that we are very lenient to Josef?"

Appreciating the girl's nobility, Carter strove to do justice to the Gray Man, but as he glanced into the mask-like face a greater repugnance than aforetimes overcame all generous impulses. He strove to put down the distrust that he was certain no one present shared with him, for on every countenance, save that of Sobieska who was gazing idly out of a window, he read a story of affection for the man who had done this thing for Krovitch.

"And the new king," he questioned lightly, avoiding the issue raised, "has he, too, married a maid of Krovitch?"

She crimsoned in manifest confusion. Averting her head for an instant, she bravely met his glance.

"Not yet," she replied. The signals of her embarrassment told him on whom the choice had nevertheless fallen.

She hurried on that this stranger might not the longer probe her sentiments with his compelling eyes. "In a few days we go to bring him who knows not he is king, and at the head of a valorous people seat him on his throne. Now are the days when only a man must lead. My ancestors threw this land into Russia's clutches, their descendant must return it to Krovitch's rightful king. This is about all, Captain Carter, except that when King Stovik fled he was supposed to have worn the medal found on your chauffeur. Doubtless at some time a member of Carrick's family received it as a mark of royal gratitude."

"I thank you for the story," said Carter. "Now that my identity is established, may I ask for a place in your army? The cause of your country shall be my own."

She smiled indulgently. "Perhaps," she said, "when you have fully mastered our language, we might make you a lance corporal. You see we have only one Field Marshal, Colonel Sutphen, although fully a score of applicants for that rank."

"Don't tease, Tru," said Zulka with the intimacy of a lifelong friendship, "I am a colonel. Cal Carter, here, is a better soldier. We fought together at Santiago, so I should know."

"We'll see," was all she would reply, as she turned to go. Then hesitatingly she held out her hand to Carter, who bent above it with inspired gallantry and touched his lips to her fingers.

"Au revoir, Lady Paramount," he said.

"Au revoir, Sir Knight of the Auto-car," she replied; adding; "be sure to come to the levee to-night. Already the maidens of Krovitch have heard of you, sir. One at least, desires to make your acquaintance."

"We are going to the inn," Zulka announced as he took Carter by the arm, so the latter made his adieux to the gentlemen of the Privy Council and turned prepared to follow him.

"Castle's full," Paul explained to relieve the mystification apparent on his friend's countenance. "Privy Counselors with their families and households, Army Staff, Duchess's Attendants and Aides-de-Camp, and so forth."

"But the inn's full, too, Paul. The landlord——"

"Thought you were a spy. That's why Josef recommended Schallberg. Thought you would probably tumble to the fact that he was wise, as we say in New York; to the fact that more than a hundred notices were posted there offering a reward for the apprehension of humble me, whom they flatteringly described. You see," he explained, "shortly after my return last year, I hurt Russia's feelings. Made what they very truthfully called a revolutionary address. I've been dodging Siberia ever since. Get your medal, Carrick, and come along," he called over his shoulder to the Cockney, who was reluctant to leave without his precious heirloom.

Carter's second appearance in the courtyard was more gratifying than his first, and he had no difficulty in procuring his touring car from the sentry, who already seemed to have been apprised of the stalwart stranger's status.

Whirled along in the auto, the inn was soon reached, where, arm in arm with Count Zulka, Carter entered, much to the unenlightened bewilderment of the landlord, who, nevertheless, at the Krovitzer's request, had no difficulty in finding them a private room for their dinner.

After having enjoyed to the full the appetizing meal which had been set before them, the two friends at first indulged themselves with intermittent cigarettes and the thimblefuls of local liquor attendant at their elbows. Digestion, for a while, stood in the way of discourse, and the tally was naturally indolent, somnolent.

Presently, after having sufficiently watched the rings of smoke flatten themselves against a black, studded rafter, Carter gave a slight rein to his speculations.

"Why," he said, holding up his cigarette to gaze squintingly at the ember at its head, "why is the Count Sobieska antagonistic to Josef?"

Zulka stretched himself further back in his heavy chair. Very much at his ease, he could have dispensed with questions just then.

"Professional jealousy, I suppose," he replied. "When it comes to knowledge of Russian movements," he went on to explain, "that's Sobieska's department, mind you, but somehow Josef is always hours ahead of him through some source of his own. Naturally Sobieska takes the chance to rub a miscue in on the old chap."

"Why should he be interested in Carrick's antecedents, Paul?"

"Cal, you are like the youngster, who after exhausting all other questions, asked his dazed parent, 'Father, why is why?' Tell me all that happened," he said, seeing the slightly nettled expression on his friend's face. "You see the circus was all over before I arrived."

Carter related the affair from the time of their first meeting with Josef, at that very inn, to the time when Zulka's timely appearance put an end to their trial. "The rest you know," he concluded.

Zulka opened his cigarette case, selected one and after knocking the end of it two or three times against the metal lid without putting it in his mouth, looked up at his friend. "Cal, I'm afraid I've given you the idea that Sobieska is incompetent. That is not so. The fact is, he is devilish deep and clever. He never lets up once he has struck a trail. He's probably hit on something now that he thinks should be investigated. By the way, how's Saunderson of the Racquet?" So the conversation drifted.

Their mutual friends in New York had included many women of gentle birth with whom Paul Zulka had always been more or less of a favorite. Concerning these, individually and collectively, Carter's replies to his friend's inquiries had been equally frank and responsive.

"So you left no sweetheart behind, Cal?"

"No, Paul. I'd not leave a sweetheart. I'd make her my wife."

"In the face of a congÉ?"

"You ought to know me better. I never take 'no' for an answer." Carter's pride glowed in his face as he made this reply.

"The Duchess of Schallberg," announced Zulka, "will marry the King of Krovitch to unite the two houses. She has pledged herself." This seemingly irrelevant announcement was made through a swirling cloud of smoke.

"So?" Carter strove to make his reply partake of easy nonchalance, but his throat tightened so that he could feel his face go red and hot. It was as if Paul had intimated that he, Calvert Carter, would seek and be refused by the Duchess of Schallberg. He was thankful the Krovitzer was not looking just then.

Had he been wise, Carter would have said no more. But failing to emphasize his disinterestedness, he added to his monosyllabic exclamation a query in a studied tone of unconcern.

"What's that got to do with us, old chap?"

Zulka leaned forward confidentially as he laid a friendly hand upon the other's knee.

"She's for neither you nor me, Cal," he said regretfully. "She must marry a man she has never seen for the sake of a country that she adores. Without this submission on her part we could count on no united Krovitch. Our country worships her and will follow no king who will not seat her upon his throne. Get that angel face out of your heart. Deafen your ears to her voice before, like me, you try too late. Oh, I know, I saw," he hastened on as Carter would have stopped him, "love makes all eyes keen. You love Trusia."

As the significance of the last remark went home, Carter sat as one stunned. The perspiration gathered slowly in great beads on his forehead. He hung his head gloomily; his face went pale. It seemed, suddenly, that life, ever a pleasant vista to him, had built a wall before his eyes, unscalable, opaque.

Then he understood. A pain gripped his heart as the great truth came home to him.

"I do," he answered jerkily, for he was striving to keep a strong man's grip on his soul. Slowly, however, the agony, defying him, triumphed. "My God," he wailed in surrender, "it is true though I never realized it till now." That was all he said, but with blind hands he groped for fellowship and welcomed Zulka's responsive grip of steel.

Relaxing his handclasp, he arose and walked to the window, to gaze out upon darkness until his own night passed from him sufficiently to enable him to seize upon his soul in the elusive shadows and hold it firmly. From where he stood, after an interval of pregnant silence, he turned a high-held, stern, white face upon Zulka.

"Paul," he said quietly, "we'll have to stand by her now to the end. If Krovitch wins and I'm alive, I'll go back to New York. If she loses, our lives must purchase her safety, should that be the price. It will be Trusia first, then."

"It will always be Trusia," said Zulka.

Carter nodded his understanding.

"Come, Carter!" Zulka said almost brusquely, "enough of sentiment. We must dress for the levee. I can fit you out in clothes."