ed him on their throne, he would
treat his power as a trust for them.

"For this day at least we give ourselves over to the joy of meeting you.
To-morrow comes the fearful care of kings. You have labored faithfully,
to-night be merry," he said in conclusion. He lifted a bubbling glass
from the table. "Our battle cry, my lords, is 'God and Krovitch.'"

There was an hysteric outburst. Men and women leaped to their feet to
drain the toast. When the King regained his seat the cheers subsided.
Slowly, impressively Trusia arose at his side, the light of inspiration
radiating from her glorious self like the warm light that comes from the
sun.

"There can be only one other toast after that, my people," she said.
"God save the King." Like a real prayer, solemn and soul-felt, arose a
responsive, "God save the King." Then deliberately, that the glasses
might never be profaned with a less loyal toast, the guests snapped the
fragile stems between their fingers and cast the dainty bowls to the
floor in tinkling fragments.

At a signal from Stovik the banquet was over. He arose, and, taking
Trusia by the hand, escorted her to the great hall to lead the cotillion
with him. The royal pair having departed, the guests arose and, in the
order of their precedence, filed into the ballroom in the train of their
King.

The first figure, patriotically named the "Flag of Krovitch," was danced
by Stovik, Trusia and seven other couples all nearly related to royalty,
each person waving a small silken flag bearing the Lion of their race.

Carter, from the throng, with hungry eyes saw but one wondrous form,
supported on the arm of royalty, glide through the graceful maze. A lull
came in the music and Stovik, bowing the Duchess to her seat, turned
with evident relish to a coquettish brunette who had assured him that
they were first cousins.

Having fulfilled the demands of Court etiquette in yielding first place
to her sovereign, Trusia was now free to indulge any other preference
for partners for the ensuing figures. The American glanced covetously
toward the place where Sobieska and Zulka stood, expectantly awaiting
her invitation. With a mild negation of her head she passed them, moving
to where Carter was engaged talking to the Countess Muhlen-Sarkey.
Seeing her approach, his heart beat with a foolish hope and his remarks
to his matronly auditor, took on a perplexing shade of incoherence.
Evidently Trusia shyly expected him to accept the c