f the streets, and were helpless before
them. They had done what they could. But the boy was gone, and the city
rising. Already the garrison of the fortress had been ordered to the
Palace, but it could not arrive before midnight. Friese had questioned
the wisdom of it, at that, and was for flight as soon as the King died.
Bayerl, on the other hand, urged a stand, in the hope that the Crown
Prince would be found.

Their voices, lowered at first, rose acrimoniously; almost they
penetrated to the silent room beyond. On to the discussion came Nikky
Larisch, covered with dust and spotted with froth from his horse. He
entered without ceremony, his boyish face drawn and white, his cap gone,
his eyes staring.

"The Chancellor?" he said.

Some one pointed to the room beyond.

Nikky hesitated. Then, being young and dramatic, even in tragedy, he
unbuckled his sword-belt and took it off, placing it on a table.

"Gentlemen," he said, "I have come to surrender myself."

The Council stared.

"For what reason?" demanded Marschall coldly.

"I believe it is called high treason." He closed his eyes for a moment.
"It is because of my negligence that this thing has happened. He was in
my charge, and I left him."

No one said anything. The Council looked at a loss, rather like a flock
of sheep confronting some strange animal.

"I would have shot myself," said Nikky Larisch, "but it was too easy."

Then, rather at a loss as to the exact etiquette of arresting one's
self, he bowed slightly and waited.

The door into the King's bedchamber opened.

The Chancellor came through, his face working. It closed behind him.

"Gentlemen of the Council," he said. "It is my duty my duty--to
announce--" His voice broke; his grizzled chin quivered; tears rolled
down his cheeks. "Friends," he said pitifully, "our good King--my old
comrade--is dead!"

The birthday supper was over. It had ended with an American ice-cream,
brought in carefully by Pepy, because of its expensiveness. They had cut
the cake with Boby on the top, and the Crown Prince had eaten far more
than was good for him.

He sat, fingering the Lincoln penny and feeling extremely full and very
contented.

Then, suddenly, from a far-off church a deep-toned bell began to toll
slowly.

Prince Ferdinand William Otto caught it. St. Stefan's bell! He sat up
and listened. The sound was faint; one felt it rather than heard it, but
the slow booming was unmistakable. He got up and pu