oms, removing the dust of his journey, broken by the automobile
trip across the mountains where the two railroads would some day meet,
Karl reflected on the situation. His amour-propre was hurt. Things
should have been better managed, for one thing. It was inexcusable
that he had been subjected to such a demonstration. But, aside from the
injury to his pride, was a deeper question. If this was the temper
of the people now, what would it be when they found their suspicions
justified? Had Ogla Loschek been right after all, and not merely
jealous? And if she were, was the game worth the candle?

Pacing the drawing-room of his suite with a cigarette, and cursing the
tables and bric-a-brac with which it was cluttered, Karl was of a mind
to turn back, after all, Even the prospect which his Ministers had not
failed to recognize, of the Crown Prince never reaching his maturity,
was a less pleasing one than it had been. A dual monarchy, one portion
of it restless and revolutionary, was less desirable than the present
peace and prosperity of Karnia. And unrest was contagious. He might find
himself in a difficult position.

He was, indeed, even now in a difficult position.

He glanced about his rooms. In one of them Prince Hubert had met his
death. It was well enough for Mettlich to say the few could not speak
for the many. It took but one man to do a murder, Karl reflected grimly.

But when he arrived for tea in the Archduchess's white drawing-room he
was urbane and smiling. Hedwig, standing with cold hands and terrified
eyes by the tea-table, disliked both his urbanity and his smile. He
kissed the hand of the Archduchess and bent over Hedwig's with a flash
of white teeth.

Then he saw Olga Loschek, and his smile stiffened. The Countess came
forward, curtsied, and as he extended his hand to her, touched it
lightly with her lips. They were quite cold. For just an instant their
eyes met.

It was, on the surface, an amiable and quiet teaparty. Hilda, in a new
frock, flirted openly with the King, and read his fortune in tea-leaves.
Hedwig had taken up her position by a window, and was conspicuously
silent. Behind her were the soft ring of silver against china; the
Countess's gay tones; Karl's suave ones, assuming gravity, as he
inquired for His Majesty; the Archduchess Annunciata pretending a
solicitude she did not feel. And all forced, all artificial, Olga
Loschek's heart burning in her, and Karl watching Hedwig with open
adm