Ughtred, with a deep sigh of relief, sank into an easy-chair, and mopped his forehead in most unkingly fashion. He had escaped for a moment into the royal ante-room.

“Nicholas,” he exclaimed, “if I am to be preserved for the service of the State order me a whisky-and-soda. This is harder work than our ride from Castle Reist.”

Reist touched the bell and smiled.

“It is not yet concluded,” he said. “I have many yet upon my list who have not been presented to your Majesty. There must be no heartburnings to-night. We must make no enemies.”

Ughtred sat up with a sudden sense of injury.

“Nicholas,” he demanded, “where is your sister?”

Reist’s face was imperturbable.

“My sister,” he said, “regretted exceedingly her inability to be present. She will pay her respects to your Majesty later.”

The King frowned. His manner was impatient.

“It is now that I require her help,” he said. “The Baroness is an utter impossibility. Her French is unrecognizable, she remembers no one, and the woman herself with her dyed hair and feathers is a caricature. Your sister must really make an effort, Reist. She must come and help me out.”

“I will see that your Majesty’s wishes,” Reist answered quietly, “are conveyed to her.”

The King eyed him keenly. Reist then was concealing something. His sister’s absence was not motiveless.

“On reflection,” he said, “I desire to emphasize my wishes. Your sister’s absence is significant, and might possibly be commented upon. You will go yourself and fetch her, Nicholas. Say that I desire her immediate presence.”

“Your Majesty,” Reist protested, “my sister may have to make her toilette. Her immediate return with me will doubtless be impossible.”

“The Countess will use her own discretion as to the time she keeps me waiting,” Ughtred answered coolly. “I have told you that I shall await your return.”

Reist turned away with immovable face. Ughtred remained in the ante-room alone. He lit a cigarette, and took a pile of telegrams from the table by his side. Selecting the topmost he read it thoughtfully to himself.

“A coronation present with such a wish,” he said to himself, “must remain an enigma. Enter.”

An attendant withdrew the curtain.

“Captain Hartzan, of the Artillery, desires a moment’s audience with your Majesty,” the servant announced.

The King nodded.

“Let him be shown in.”

A young officer bowed low as he passed through the curtains.

“Your Majesty,” he announced, “a messenger has arrived at the barracks from the English firm of Vickers, Son, and Maxim. He is in charge of a whole battery of Maxims and quick-firing pom-poms, and awaits instructions as to their delivery.”

“I know nothing of them,” the King answered. “I understood that the firm you mention had declined the orders of the late Government.”

“It is true, your Majesty,” the officer answered, “and in consequence we have scarcely a modern gun at the barracks. The battery which has arrived here was intended for the Russian Government, but was purchased, the person in charge informs me, by a private individual for cash, as a coronation present to your Majesty.”

The King started.

“Are you sure that there is no mistake?” he asked.

“None, your Majesty,” the officer answered. “The messenger is quite explicit. It is a princely gift. Colonel Dartnoff instructed me to make an immediate report to your Majesty.”

Ughtred for a moment was puzzled.

“I know of no one,” he said reflectively, “who could make such a present.”

The young officer hesitated.

“The artillery man in charge, your Majesty, claims to have seen the donor’s cheque. It was a draft upon Rothschilds, drawn by an American of the name of Van Decht.”

Ughtred caught up the telegram by his side. His eyes were suddenly bright. He understood.

“You will inform the agent in charge,” he said, “that I will receive him to-morrow, and arrange a date to inspect the battery.”

The young officer bowed respectfully, and withdrew. Reist took his place. The King eyed him sternly, for at first it seemed to him that so prompt a return was significant.

“Well, sir!”

Reist lifted the curtain. Marie stood there in Court dress, her long train held by pages in the Reist livery, her neck and arms ablaze with jewels, a coronet of pearls upon her forehead. She was a little pale, and she carried herself with more than ordinary dignity. The King rose, and, bowing low, raised her hands to his lips.

“You are very welcome, Countess of Reist,” he said, “although you are amongst the latest of those who have come to offer their good wishes.”

“I have come,” she answered, “in obedience to your Majesty’s commands.”

“Commands!” He smiled good-humouredly. “It is very unkind of you,” he said, “to have thought of deserting me on such a day as this.”

“My brother——”

“Oh, Nicholas is invaluable,” the King declared, lightly. “He can tell me what to say to the men, but it is in receiving the women I need your help.”

“The Baroness Kolashin is as well acquainted with our countrywomen as I,” Marie answered. “I did not doubt but that her aid would be sufficient.”

“The Baroness,” Ughtred answered, “has done her best; but another hour by her side would rob me of the few wits I have left. I should like to know for what special sin I was committed to her charge.”

Marie shrugged her shoulders ever so slightly, but she did not smile.

“I am at your Majesty’s service,” she said.

Ughtred was puzzled. In what manner had he offended her?

“If my message seemed to you peremptory,” he said, “will you not ascribe it to my desire to taste the full measure of my powers? I know nothing of the privileges of a king save what I have read in books. But it seems to me that included amongst them must surely be the privilege of choosing one’s companions—and one’s friends.”

“Your Majesty,” Marie answered, “may find that a rash assumption. It may lead to disappointment. Friends are scarcely to be made in a day, or to order. You must send for some of those whom you have left behind in England.”

He looked at her, curious to know if anything lurked behind those words.

“Mine has not been the sort of life,” he said, quietly, “which leads to the making of friendships. I have been a wanderer always, and a lonely one. I had hoped to fill the empty places—here.”

There was a note of appeal in his tone—dignified, yet not in a sense without pathos. He glanced at Nicholas, but he looked first at Marie. A faint touch of colour flushed her cheeks. Her manner was visibly softened.

“I trust that your Majesty may not be disappointed,” she said. And her eyes fell before his for the first time.

A crash of music reminded them of those who still waited to bow before the King. So they passed out into the great ballroom, and mounting the dais, Marie stood on the King’s left hand. The room was a blaze of light, of brilliant uniforms and beautiful dresses. At ten o’clock, Reist came up with a look of relief upon his face, and a gleam of excitement in his eyes.

“The English Minister and his wife, your Majesty,” he murmured. “It is excellent. The others will follow.”

The news spread. A little flutter of joy rippled through the room. The coming of this dignified, kindly old man, with his grey hair and single decoration, was the one thing needed. Theos had taken to herself a King, asking leave of no one, but the countenance of some at least of the Powers was a vital thing. At the informal coronation, rushed through by Reist and his friends, not one of the Ministers had been present. Domiloff, with smooth face and with many lying regrets, had presented an interdictory note from Russia, but owing to the peculiar conditions prevailing there had not been until after the coronation any properly-appointed person to receive it. The late foreign Minister had refused it with a smile and a polite word of regret, and his example had been followed by every member of the Royalist party. There was, they explained, at the moment no government, no officials, no Minister. Their various appointments were arranged for and would be confirmed immediately after the coronation. Until then they were only private persons. So Domiloff, with a suave jest and a shrug of his shoulders, shut himself up in his house, while the cathedral bells clashed and the cannon roared from the walls.

The English Minister was followed in quick succession by the representatives of France and Austria, and with their coming a certain sense of restraint passed away from the brilliant assemblage. Before there had been a certain sense of unreality in the whole thing. The tone of the rejoicings had been feverish—who could tell but that in a week this thing might not have passed away like a mirage. Now a heartier note altogether prevailed, especially amongst the men. There were no more side glances, or shrugged shoulders—the volcano no longer trembled beneath their feet. Dancing commenced, and the King stood up with Marie of Reist. At supper she remained on his right hand. Many people spoke to Reist of this.

“It is excellent, Duke,” declared old Baron Kolashin, once Commander-in-Chief of the Army. “Theos needs no outside alliance. It means only entanglement. That,” he inclined his head to where Marie and the King were talking, “will send Theos crazy with joy.”

Reist shook his head.

“You anticipate, my dear Kolashin,” he answered. “Our Court circle is, as you know, small, and Marie’s rank entitles her to receive. But this is only their second meeting. I am sure that as yet no such idea has entered the King’s head.”

Kolashin twirled his fierce moustache, and smiled knowingly.

“Eh, but my friend, there is a report that they have drunk together from the King’s cup. How about that?”

“It is true,” Reist admitted, “but the King knows nothing of the history of the cup. His offer was one of gallantry—no more. They were children together.”

The general chuckled.

“Marie is a beautiful girl,” he said. “There is none like her in Theos. Eh, but if I were young again.”

He went off smiling to himself.

Reist was touched on the arm by Brand.

“May I speak to you for a moment, Duke?”

“By all means.”

“There is still one of the foreign Ministers absent besides Domiloff.”

Reist nodded.

“Effenden Pascha. There is yet time, however.”

“Effenden Pascha is not coming,” Brand said.

Reist eyed him sharply.

“How do you know that?”

“I was at the palace gates,” Brand answered, “when Effenden Pascha drove up. He was on the point of entering when he was accosted by our friend Domiloff.”

Reist’s face grew black as night.

“The hound!” he murmured. “Go on!”

“They stayed talking for five minutes or more. Eventually they both reentered Effenden Pascha’s carriage and were driven off.”

“The wolf and the dog,” Reist cried, fiercely. “Let them beware how they bark at the gates of Theos.”

He was white almost to the lips with anger. Brand watched him curiously.

“I do not believe that you people like the Turks,” he remarked.

Reist turned upon him with a sudden violent gesture. His voice was low, but charged with passionate hate.

“Like them! To us they are as vermin, a pest upon the face of the earth. You wonder why! I tell you that it is because we know them, because their border villages are in touch with ours, we know their life and the manner of it. I could tell you things which you dare not put in print; stories which, if English people read in your paper they would brand you a liar. So, my friend, Brand, believe this. There is not a true Thetian breathing who would not rather die himself and kill his wife and children than that the Turks should enter Theos.... Pardon me!”

He moved away with a quick, expressive gesture. Brand remained in his corner, and presently the King with Marie of Reist upon his arm passed by. They paused before him.

“Come, Brand,” Ughtred remarked, “why so thoughtful? You must dance, my friend.”

“Your Majesty,” Brand answered, “I was pondering upon the inequalities of life. Yesterday I was a King, and a most uncomfortable position it was! To-day you are King—and”—he glanced at Marie—“it is a trial to one’s disposition to refrain from envy.”

Marie detached her hand softly from the King’s sleeve.

“So gallant a speech, sir,” she said, smiling, “must be rewarded. You have not yet asked me to dance!”