urtney read it carefully. "At last I see the simple truth in a daily
paper," he commented. "But, as for you, my friend, button your coat
well over your heart for it's in for a hard thump tonight."

"So?" said I.

"There won't be so much indifference after you've met Her and--seen a
certain picture in the Corridor of Kings," he retorted, with a superior
smile.

"Think not?" said I, with another yawn. "What if I've done both years
ago?"

He eyed me sharply. "It's foolish to bluff when a show-down is
certain," he said.

"So one learns in the army."

"Of course not every hand needs to bluff," he said slowly.

"No--not every hand," I agreed.

He went over to the door. On the threshold he turned.

"I wonder if this is my laugh, or yours, to-night," he said.

"We will laugh together," I answered.

Then he went out.

IV

THE SALUTE OF A COUSIN

I would have been rather a wooden sort of individual had I felt no stir
in my heart as, for the first time, I entered the Castle of my
ancestors and stood in the ante-chamber waiting to be presented to the
Head of my House. I believe I am as phlegmatic as most men, but I
would give very little for one who, under like conditions, would not
feel a press of emotion. I know it came to me with sharp
intensity,--and I see no shame in the admission; nor will any one else
whose heart is the heart of an honest man. I have no patience with
those creatures who deride sentiment. They are either liars or idiots.
Religion, itself, is sentimental; and so is every refined instinct of
our lives. Destroy the sentimental in man and the brute alone remains.

We waited but a moment and then were ushered into the royal presence.
The greeting was entirely informal. Courtney was no stranger to
Valeria, and had met the King frequently during the last ten years.
Frederick came forward and shook his hand most cordially and welcomed
him to Court. It was like the meeting of two friends. During it I had
time to observe the King.

He wore the green uniform of a General, with the Jewel of the Order of
the Lion around his neck. His sixty odd years sat very lightly and
left no mark save in the facial wrinkles and grey hair. He was a true
Dalberg in height and general appearance, and with the strong, straight
nose that was as distinctive to our family as was the beak to the
Bourbons.

I had remained in the background during Courtney's greeting, but, when
he turned and presented