ich those behind the
great journals which he represented understood less, even, than he.
Bellamy loved his country, and fear was gnawing at his heart.

Below, the crowds which had been waiting patiently for many hours
broke into a tumult of welcoming voices. Down their thickly-packed
lines the volume of sound arose and grew, a faint murmur at first,
swelling and growing to a thunderous roar. Myriads of hats were
suddenly torn from the heads of the excited multitude, handkerchiefs
waved from every window. It was a wonderful greeting, this.

"The Czar on his way to the railway station," Bellamy remarked.

The broad avenue was suddenly thronged with a mass of soldiery--guardsmen
of the most famous of Austrian regiments, brilliant in their white
uniforms, their flashing helmets. The small brougham with its
great black horses was almost hidden within a ring of naked steel.
Dorward, an American to the backbone and a bitter democrat, thrust
out his under-lip.

"The Anointed of the Lord!" he muttered.

Far away from some other quarter came the same roar of voices,
muffled yet insistent, charged with that faint, exciting timbre
which seems always to live in the cry of the multitude.

"The Emperor," declared Bellamy. "He goes to the West station."

The commotion had passed. The crowds in the street below were on
the move, melting away now with a muffled trampling of feet and a
murmur of voices. The two men turned from their window back into
the room. Dorward commenced to roll a cigarette with yellow-stained,
nervous fingers, while Bellamy threw himself into an easy-chair with
a gesture of depression.

"So it is over, this long-talked-of meeting," he said, half to
himself, half to Dorward. "It is over, and Europe is left to wonder."

"They were together for scarcely more than an hour," Dorward murmured.

"Long enough," Bellamy answered. "That little room in the Palace,
my friend, may yet become famous."

"If you and I could buy its secrets," Dorward remarked, finally
shaping a cigarette and lighting it, "we should be big bidders, I
think. I'd give fifty thousand dollars myself to be able to cable
even a hundred words of their conversation."

"For the truth," Bellamy said, "the whole truth, there could be no
price sufficient. We made our effort in different directions, both
of us. With infinite pains I planted--I may tell you this now that
the thing is over--seven spies in the Palace. They have been of