ill not be long. The old King fails hourly. And this happening of
yesterday--"

"What happened yesterday?" queried the boy.

"It was a matter of the Crown Prince."

"Was he ill?"

"He ran away," said the man shortly.

"Ran away?" The boy stopped his dusting, and stared, open-mouthed.

"Aye, ran away. Grew weary of back-bending, perhaps. I do not know. I do
not believe in kings."

"Not believe in kings?" The boy stopped his brushing.

"You do, of course," sneered the man. "Because a thing is, it is right.
But I think. I use my brains. I reason. And I do not believe in kings."

Up the runway came sounds from the ring, the thudding of hoofs, followed
by a child's shrill, joyous laughter. The man scowled.

"Listen!" he said. "We labor and they play."

"It has always been so. I do not begrudge happiness."

But the man was not listening.

"I do not believe in kings," he said sullenly.

CHAPTER VI. THE CHANCELLOR PAYS A VISIT

The Archduchess was having tea. Her boudoir was a crowded little room.
Nikky had once observed confidentially to Miss Braithwaite that it
was exactly like her, all hung and furnished with things that were not
needed. The Archduchess liked it because it was warm. The palace rooms
were mostly large and chilly. She lad a fire there on the warmest days
in spring, and liked to put the coals on, herself. She wrapped them in
pieces of paper so she would not soil her hands.

This afternoon she was not alone. Lounging at a window was the lady
who was in waiting at the time, the Countess Loschek. Just now she was
getting rather a wigging, but she was remarkably calm.

"The last three times," the Archduchess said, stirring her tea, "you
have had a sore throat."

"It is such a dull book," explained the Countess.

"Not at all. It is an improving book. If you would put your mind on
it when you are reading, Olga, you would enjoy it. And you would learn
something, besides. In my opinion," went on the Archduchess, tasting her
tea, "you smoke too many cigarettes."

The Countess yawned, but silently, at her window.

Then she consulted a thermometer. "Eighty!" she said briefly, and,
coming over, sat down by the tea-table.

The Countess Loschek was thirty, and very handsome, in an insolent way.
She was supposed to be the best-dressed woman at the Court, and to rule
Annunciata with an iron hand, although it was known that they quarreled
a great deal over small things, especially over the coa