d a small boy; very rapt and very earnest, prayed for his
grandfather's life.

Yet the bargain came very close to being made the other way that day,
and by Karl himself.

Preparations were being made for his visit to Livonia. Ostensibly this
visit was made because of the King's illness. Much political capital
was being made of Karl's going to see, for the last time, the long-time
enemy of his house. While rumor was busy, Karnia was more than
satisfied. Even the Socialist Party approved, and their papers, being
more frank than the others, spoke openly of the chances of a dual
kingdom, the only bar being a small boy.

On the day of the pilgrimage Karl found himself strangely restless and
uneasy. He had returned to his capital the day before, and had busied
himself until late that night with matters of state. He had slept well,
and wakened to a sense of well-being. But, during the afternoon, he
became uneasy. Olga Loschek haunted him, her face when he had told her
about the letter, her sagging figure when he had left her.

Something like remorse stirred in him. She had taken great risks for
him. Of all the women he had known, she had most truly and unselfishly
loved him. And for her years of service he had given her contempt. He
reflected, too, that he had, perhaps, made an enemy where he needed a
friend. How easy, by innuendo and suggestion, to turn Hedwig against
him, Hedwig who already fancied herself interested elsewhere.

Very nearly did he swing the scale in which Olga Loschek had hung
her bargain with God--so nearly that in the intervals of affixing his
sprawling signature to various documents, he drew a sheet of note-paper
toward him. Then, with a shrug, he pushed it away. So Olga Loschek lost
her bargain.

At dawn the next morning the Countess, still pale with illness and
burning with fever, went back to the city.

CHAPTER XXIX. OLD ADELBERT THE TRAITOR

"Thus," said the concierge, frying onions over his stove; "thus have
they always done. But you have been blind. Rather, you would not see."

Old Adelbert stirred uneasily. "So long as I accept my pension--"

"Why should you not accept your pension. A trifle in exchange for what
you gave. For them, who now ill-use you, you have gone through life but
half a man. Women smile behind their hands when you hobble by."

"I do not hold with women," said old Adelbert, flushing. "They take all
and give nothing." The onions were done, and the concierge put