hat
you should be seen and spoken to." And having given the order he went
away.

No one heard the shoeless feet of the two boys as they stole down the
stairs.

An elderly man in ordinary clothes, but with an unmistakable face, was
sitting quietly talking to Loristan who with a gesture called both
forward.

"The Prince has been much interested in what I have told him of your
game," he said in his lowest voice. "He wishes to see you make your
sketches, Marco."

Marco looked very straight into the Prince's eyes which were fixed
intently on him as he made his bow.

"His Highness does me honor," he said, as his father might have said
it. He went to the table at once and took from a drawer his pencils
and pieces of cardboard.

"I should know he was your son and a Samavian," the Prince remarked.

Then his keen and deep-set eyes turned themselves on the boy with the
crutches.

"This," said Loristan, "is the one who calls himself The Rat. He is one
of us."

The Rat saluted.

"Please tell him, sir," he whispered, "that the crutches don't matter."

"He has trained himself to an extraordinary activity," Loristan said.
"He can do anything."

The keen eyes were still taking The Rat in.

"They are an advantage," said the Prince at last.

Lazarus had nailed together a light, rough easel which Marco used in
making his sketches when the game was played. Lazarus was standing in
state at the door, and he came forward, brought the easel from its
corner, and arranged the necessary drawing materials upon it.

Marco stood near it and waited the pleasure of his father and his
visitor. They were speaking together in low tones and he waited
several minutes. What The Rat noticed was what he had noticed
before--that the big boy could stand still in perfect ease and silence.
It was not necessary for him to say things or to ask questions--to look
at people as if he felt restless if they did not speak to or notice
him. He did not seem to require notice, and The Rat felt vaguely that,
young as he was, this very freedom from any anxiety to be looked at or
addressed made him somehow look like a great gentleman.

Loristan and the Prince advanced to where he stood.

"L'Hotel de Marigny," Loristan said.

Marco began to sketch rapidly. He began the portrait of the handsome
woman with the delicate high-bridged nose and the black brows which
almost met. As he did it, the Prince drew nearer and watched the work
over his should