and unjust. Joan is no adventuress," he
said. "We old birds are too ready to condemn a young and pretty woman
who falls in love with a King; but in the present instance criticism is
disarmed, since Joan was in love with Alec when he had no more worldly
wealth than the endowment of your princely name, and when his chance of
becoming King of Kosnovia was as remote as--what shall I say?--well, as
your own."

Michael came away from the door and stood looking out at the window. It
afforded a partial view of the courtyard and the fairly wide street
beyond the gate. "I know, of course, that your ideas and mine on these
subjects differ very greatly," he said after a pause, and with a
perceptible return to his grandiose manner; "but as you say rightly,
both of us are old enough to realize that a reigning King can marry none
but a Princess of some royal house. Again, the King of Kosnovia must
marry a Serb. There you have two fixed principles, so to speak, each of
which renders it impossible for a lady who rejoices apparently in no
other name than Joan----"

"Joan Vernon," put in Felix, producing a cigarcase, an exact replica of
that containing the bombs, and selecting one of the long thin cigars he
favored.

"Ah, certainly. The Princess spoke to her in Vienna, and ascertained her
name then. Well, Miss Joan Vernon cannot, by the very nature of things,
become Queen of Kosnovia. It is not that I disapprove of the notion,
Felix; it is simply impossible."

Poluski struck a match and began to smoke furiously. Delgrado probably
expected him to say something; but he waited in vain, since Felix seemed
to be far more perturbed by the suspected existence of a hole in the
outer wrapping of the cigar, and futile efforts to close it with the tip
of a finger, than by the princely hinting at a morganatic marriage.

Perforce, Prince Michael resumed the discussion. "I am stating the facts
calmly and without prejudice," he said. "I assume that you are not
misleading me or that some sort of lovers' vows exists between these
young people?"

He paused again. Poluski was triumphant. He had found the hole, applied
the surgical method of a tourniquet by pressure, and the cigar was
drawing perfectly.

"Having said so much, Felix, you might be sufficiently communicative in
other respects," growled Delgrado, turning angrily from the window.

"_Parbleu!_ I left you to do the talking, Monseigneur. This devil of a
cigar has been bored by a weevil, an