alf turning away suffused in his own self-pity, "do not trifle
with me." He appealed to Josef. "Is this true--what they say,
Josef-Petros, or whatever your name is?"

"It is true, Your Majesty."

"A King! A King!" exclaimed the astonished artist. "But still a King
without a kingdom--a table without meat. A mockery of greatness after
all. Why do you come to tell me this?" he cried turning fiercely on
them. "Was I too contented as I was? It is not good to taunt a hungry
man. To tell me that I am a crownless King without six feet of land to
call my realm, is but to mock me."

"The remedy is at hand, Your Majesty," Sutphen asserted confidently.
"Eighty thousand men await your coming, all trained soldiers. We will
raise the battle cry of Krovitch and at Schallberg crown you and your
Queen."

"My Queen," almost shouted the astonished Delmotte, "have I a Queen,
too? Are you all crazy, or am I? Pray heaven the Queen is none other
than Marie, else I'll have no supper to-night. Who is my queen?" He
asked as he saw the expression of disapproval which appeared on more
than one face present.

"The noblest woman under heaven, sire," said Sutphen reverently. "One
who well could have claimed the crown herself. She wished a man to lead
her people in the bitter strife and waived her claims for you. It is
therefore but meet that she who has wrought all this for you should
share your throne."

"Why was I chosen?"

"You are descended from Stovik--she from Augustus, the last King of
Krovitch, Stovik's rival." So step by step they disclosed their plans,
their hopes and ambitions to the dazzled Parisian. Finally, his mind was
surfeited with the tale of this country which was claiming him; he
turned and, with sweeping gesture, indicated those present.

"And you?" he asked. "And these? I know your rightful name as little as
I am sure of my own."

"Your Majesty's rightful name is Stovik Fourth." Then Sutphen presented
each in turn. Carter came last. The eyes of these two, so near an age,
instinctively sought out the other and recognized him as a possible
rival. Probably the first there to do so, Carter admitted that this
so-called heir to a throne was nothing but an ordinary habitue of cafe
and boulevard; a jest-loving animal, with possibly talents, but no great
genius.

The artist, with an assertion of his novel dominance, arose. "I am
ready, gentlemen," he said. "My baggage is on my back. I understand that
the rendezvous is on the