Illuminations, fireworks, and the thunder of saluting cannon closed the day. The excited crowds dispersed slowly to their homes, the National Hymn ceased at last to echo through the squares and streets. Towards midnight Domiloff, who had left the palace early, knocked at the door of a large white house in the Place des Éstrangers, and was at once admitted. He passed into a hall furnished after the Turkish style, and into the presence of Effenden Pascha.

The Turk was still in the uniform and jewelled turban which he had donned for the reception at the palace. He greeted Domiloff eagerly. They conversed in French.

“It is well that you have come,” the Turk exclaimed. “To-morrow it will be known in Constantinople that you and I alone of the foreign Ministers failed to attend the reception of the new King. How am I to explain this, Domiloff?”

Domiloff nodded, and lit a cigarette.

“Listen, Effenden Pascha,” he said, quietly. “I have within the last few minutes received a message from St. Petersburg ordering me to recognize on behalf of Russia, Ughtred of Tyrnaus. It does not suit my country just at present to be at variance with the other Powers. Accordingly I must present myself at the palace to-morrow. You, however, are outside the concert. Now, listen. I speak truth, do I not, when I say that the ancient enmity between your country and Theos is still a live thing—that but for the Powers your soldiers would long ago have pillaged Theos, and sacked the city?”

“It is true,” Effenden Pascha admitted. “What then?”

“The accession of Ughtred of Tyrnaus is not approved of by my master. As I have explained, we cannot move ourselves, for the time is not yet ripe for a European war. This, however, we can undertake. If your master should refuse to recognize the new sovereign of Theos, and should think the time ripe for an effort to regain what was once a part of the Ottoman Empire, there shall be no interference. Russia will not interfere, and Russia will see that no other Power does. You follow me?”

“Perfectly,” Effenden Pascha answered, quietly; “and afterwards?”

“The afterwards,” Domiloff remarked, with a shrug of the shoulders, “is of your own making.”

The Turk shook his head slowly.

“Domiloff,” he said, “so far all is well. But your price? Your master serves no one without a price. Wherein is to come your advantage?”

“We have none to gain,” Domiloff answered. “Simply we object to a Tyrnaus once more upon the throne of Theos.”

The Turk moved towards the door.

“There is still time,” he said. “I go to pay my respects to King Ughtred.”

“You are too late,” Domiloff cried.

“Not so,” the Turk answered, pointing through the trees. “The palace is still a blaze of light.”

Domiloff swore softly between his teeth.

“Do not be so hasty, my friend,” he exclaimed.

“My country,” Effenden Pasha answered, “is too often the tool of yours. We are to do the work, and at the last moment—the Bear’s paw. We are to conquer Theos for Russia.”

“You are entirely wrong,” Domiloff declared earnestly. “The eventual possession of the country may become a matter of private treaty between your Court and mine, but I will give you the word of the Czar that if for any reason we should desire to occupy it you shall have a quid pro quo. You shall have a free hand in Asia Minor and a loan.”

“You will give me pledges of this nature in writing?” Effenden Pascha asked.

“Certainly!”

The Turk walked to the window with a smile.

“Allah!” he exclaimed. “It will be good to hear once more the guns roar in the Balkans. We Turks, Domiloff, are a nation of soldiers, and these long intervals of peace are ill for us.”

Outside there was a sudden tramp of feet. Into the square filed a company of soldiers. They halted in front of the house. The two men exchanged rapid glances.

“What is this?” the Turk asked, quickly.

“Heaven knows,” Domiloff answered. “Listen!”

A thunderous summons at the door; voices in the hall. An officer in the uniform of the Thetian Guards entered, bearing a letter.

“To Monsieur Domiloff,” he announced, saluting.

Domiloff opened it without a word. As he read he grew pale to the lips.

Domiloff crushed the letter in his fingers.

“Well, sir?” he said to the officer. “In the morning I will seek an audience of his Majesty.”

“I regret, sir,” the officer answered, “that my orders allow me no latitude whatever. A special train is waiting, and my instructions are to escort you to the frontier.”

Domiloff drew the Turk on one side.

“Listen,” he said, “this is a bold stroke. I half expected it. Ughtred of Tyrnaus has courage at least. I go straight to St. Petersburg. I will give pledges of what I have promised to your Minister there.”

Effenden Pascha bowed. He was most uncomfortable, but there was a certain pleasure in witnessing the discomfiture of the wily Russian.

“I shall await your news,” he answered.

Domiloff and his escort departed. Effenden Pascha at once undressed, sent for his physician and sought his bed. Before morning Theos knew of the sudden attack of malignant fever which had most unfortunately laid hold of him at the moment of starting to attend the reception at the palace.