ch him
promptness by hunting him through the forest tomorrow."

Above the whispers of hastily assembled officers, courtiers, and a few
of Vyrtl's wives, a chamberlain announced, "The Jursan envoy, Daphne
Foster."

"A woman?" murmured Vyrtl.

"So it seems. She looks quite ... distinguished."

"Ha! The witty Wilkins! A pretty choice of words."

The woman approached the throne amid a low buzz from Vyrtl's
attendants, and bowed gracefully. Gracefully but not too abjectly,
considering the situation and his own position, Vyrtl thought. She
raised her head and endured his deliberate scrutiny.

She _would_ have to be a rebel, Vyrtl told himself. He supposed they
had scoured all Jursa for a real beauty to dazzle him; but they would
discover that it would not work.

At first glance, she had seemed slim, but he saw now that, though
tall, she was very well proportioned. A net of tiny, glittering jewels
was woven into the black hair that hung to her shoulders. Her features
were regular, but expressively alive compared to the artificial
placidity of the court beauties.

But what disturbed the Emperor of Pollux most was the way she looked
at him! He felt that it was stretching diplomacy a bit far.

A smile in deep blue eyes was pleasant, when someone was sufficiently
accomplished to muster it in his presence; but this was a shade too
familiar. She seemed to put herself on a level with him--as if to
share an amusement beyond the others present.

The next moment, he was trying to decide just what quality made hers
the most beautiful female voice he had ever heard. Consequently, he
missed most of the formula about "the gratitude of all Jursa" at his
receiving "his humble slave."

* * * * *

That smile lit the blue eyes again. It was hard to tell if a ghost of
it lingered at the corners of the full lips, but the total effect was
of anything but humility. He pulled himself together, aware that
Wilkins had noticed his hesitation.

"So the Jursans seek to soften our just anger?" he said. "They send
their surrender by one who is obviously the loveliest jewel of their
misguided world."

A few of the courtiers snickered dutifully. Vyrtl was annoyed; he had
not meant to be funny. He glanced swiftly at the half-dozen wives
present, but their expressions showed no jealousy. He decided that the
empty-headed creatures had at least learned not to embarrass him
publicly.

"Your Illustrious Sublimity