The room was large and dimly lit. Domiloff, beside himself with anger, saw only Ughtred’s tall figure in resplendent uniform, standing beneath the great carved mantelpiece. He addressed him fiercely.

“How is this?” he exclaimed. “How came you here? What is the meaning of it?”

Ughtred looked at him for a moment gravely; then turned to Reist.

“Who is this person?” he asked. “Why does he address me in this fashion?”

Reist looked from one to the other with a faint smile.

“Permit me to present to your Highness,” he said, “Monsieur, the Baron Domiloff, the representative of Russia in Theos.”

Domiloff was white with rage.

“But it is a farce, this!” he exclaimed, fiercely. “Prince Ughtred and I are not strangers. I demand an explanation, sir.”

“An explanation of what?” Ughtred asked.

Domiloff was beside himself. His black eyes burned like live coals, his cheeks were pallid almost to ghastliness, the muscles of his face were twitching.

“Of your presence here, sir,” he exclaimed. “Of your flight from the palace, of your speech to the people. It was only an hour ago that you declared yourself ignorant of the language. It seems that your statement was false!”

“Baron Domiloff is suffering, perhaps, from some hallucination,” Ughtred said, quietly. “I have never, to the best of my belief, exchanged a word with him in my life. As to my flight from the palace, I have never yet entered it; nor do I propose to do so until I enter it as King of Theos.”

Domiloff’s senses were blinded with passion. The broader stature of the Prince, his more military bearing and different accent were things of which he took no note. He never once questioned the identity of the man whom he was addressing so fiercely.

“Your Highness will deny next,” he exclaimed, “that you travelled with me from the frontier, that your word is pledged to sign a treaty with Russia.”

Ughtred shrugged his shoulders slightly.

“The duties of a minister plenipotentiary,” he remarked, “are, I believe, arduous. Baron Domiloff is suffering, without doubt, from overwork. It is unnecessary for me to remark that I reached here on horseback in company with my friend Reist, and that my word is pledged to sign nothing—least of all a treaty with Russia.”

Domiloff was absolutely speechless with passion. Brand came out from the shadows amongst which he had been loitering, and faced the Russian.

“Do you know,” he said, amiably, “I believe that I can clear up this little misunderstanding. Baron Domiloff is obviously mistaking you, Prince Ughtred, for me.”

Domiloff turned upon him swiftly.

“And who, sir, are you?” he asked, harshly.

“Walter Brand, journalist—the Daily Courier, you know.”

Domiloff caught up the lamp which stood on the long oaken table, and looked steadily from one to the other of the two men. When he set it down there was a queer, bitter, little smile upon his lips. The moment was one of unspeakable humiliation to him. He, a seasoned diplomatist, trusted by his master, feared and respected everywhere, had been befooled and outwitted—by an Englishman!

“I beg to offer my tardy congratulations to your Highness,” he said, bowing to Ughtred. “My mistake was an unpardonable one. Yet this gentleman is, perhaps, also of the family of Tyrnaus? The resemblance is certainly remarkable.”

“Mr. Brand is not connected in any way with my family,” Ughtred answered. “The resemblance between us is merely a coincidence—to which it seems I owe my presence here, Baron Domiloff.”

The Russian remained silent. He stood with bowed head, awaiting the storm.

“It appears,” Ughtred continued, “that by proxy I was drugged and detained upon the frontier by your orders. For these doings I shall certainly, when the proper moment arrives, demand an explanation.”

Domiloff raised his eyes for a moment. His expression was inscrutable.

“When the time comes, your Highness,” he said, “I shall be prepared to satisfy you.”

He passed from the room without any formal leave-taking. Reist looked after him thoughtfully.

“An enemy! Well, at least we are forewarned. Prince Ughtred, there will be no rest for you now, or, I fear, for many days. Domiloff has gone without doubt to the barracks. We must forestall him. I have ordered fresh horses to be brought to the door. Marie, some wine! We are thirsty! Wine from the King’s cup!”

A servant, whose livery seemed but a slight modification of the native dress, brought some dust-covered bottles. Marie, with her own hand, unlocked an oaken cabinet, and produced some quaint horn cups, emblazoned in gold, with the Reist arms. One larger than the others she set before the Prince.

“They were a present,” Reist said, “from Rudolph the Second to my great-grandfather. The cup you have is called the King’s cup. No one who is not of Royal birth has ever drunk out of it. Permit me!”

He filled it to the brim, and Ughtred, who was thirsty, raised it gladly to his lips. Reist and Brand waited.

“To Theos and her King,” Reist said, gravely. “This is our ancient toast. May her sons be ever brave, her rulers wise, and her soil fruitful! God save the King!”

They drank together. Marie stood at the head of the table, her dark eyes full of silent fires, her fingers nervously twitching. Ughtred turned towards her.

“You, too,” he said, “must drink with us. Nay, I will have no refusal. You will honour me.”

He held his cup towards her. She shook her head.

“Not from the King’s cup,” she said. “See, I have a goblet here.”

But Ughtred was insistent.

“I have the weakness of my forefathers,” he declared, “and I am superstitious. It will be for my good fortune, and the good fortune of Theos. You shall drink with me from the King’s cup.”

A spot of colour burned in the girl’s cheeks. She drew back. A swift glance passed between brother and sister. It was Reist who answered.

“Your Highness,” he said, gravely, “in this little corner of the earth we hold hard to all our old traditions, and for more than a hundred years—ay, since first that cup was fashioned, none have drunk from it save only those of the royal House, and——”

He hesitated. Ughtred waited for him to continue.

“And their betrothed.”

Ughtred started. Marie looked downwards, and the deep colour mounted even to her forehead. There was a moment’s silence. Then the spirit of obstinacy which had been kindled in Ughtred prevailed.

“I take upon my own shoulders,” he said, smiling, “all the evil that may come of it, and I pray, Countess Marie, that you will honour me by drinking from my cup.”

She lifted her head, and the eyes of brother and sister met once more—a single electric moment. Ughtred was conscious of little save of a masterful desire to have his own way. His blue eyes were filled with a compelling light. Perhaps, too, a little admiration was apparent in his bronzed, handsome face. Marie took the cup, and raised it to her lips.

“I drink,” she murmured, “to the welfare of Theos, and to her King!”

There was another brief but curiously intense silence. Reist was standing apart with folded arms and absorbed face—Brand, too, had set down his cup, and was watching Marie. Ughtred had an uneasy feeling that what he had regarded merely as an act of courtesy had become a sacrament. The entrance of a servant was a relief to them all.

“The horses, your Grace,” he announced, “are at the side door. The people are lining the way to the barracks.”

Reist roused himself quickly.

“Your Highness is ready!” he exclaimed. “There is not a moment to lose. We shall know now how deep is the corruption which Domiloff’s gold has caused.”

Ughtred drained his cup and stood up.

“I am ready!” he declared.