their lead. But
the Chamber met this morning, and there was an expression of opinion in
favor of a democratic Government. No vote was taken; but the latest
reports speak of some disorder. The approaches to the Schwarzburg are
held by troops. There are barricades in the main streets."

Prince Michael's hands went under his coattails. His face had not
regained its claret red color, and its present tint suggested that it
had been carved out of a Camembert cheese; but he was gradually taking
the measure of current events in Kosnovia.

"Barricades seem to argue decided opinions," he said, and there was a
perceptible tinge of cynicism in the phrase that jarred on his hearers.

"One must be bold at times," muttered Count Julius.

General Stampoff was chewing an end of his long mustaches in impotent
wrath, and Beliani merely shrugged.

"Of course, my father means that prudence must be allied with boldness,"
broke in Alec, who had placed his mother in a chair and was now gazing
sternly at Marulitch as if he would challenge the unspoken thought.

"Exactly, my boy. Well said! One looks before one leaps, that is it! Now
I am not so young, not so young, and I have not forgotten the pleasant
ways of Kosnovia. Theodore thought all was well; but you see what has
happened after thirty years. Just think of it. A lifetime! Why, I came
to Paris twenty-four years ago, just after you were born, Alexis, and
even then the Obrenovitch line seemed to be well established. And here
you are, a grown man, and Theodore and his Queen are lying dead in the
Black Palace. It gives one to think. Now, our good Stampoff here would
have me rush off and buy a ticket for Delgratz to-night. As if Austria
had not closed every frontier station and was not waiting to pounce on
any Delgrado who turned up at this awkward moment on the left bank of
the Danube!"

Beliani was stroking his nose; Stampoff evidently meant to shorten his
mustache by inches; and Julius Marulitch was waxen, and thereby rendered
more than ever like a clothier's model.

Alec was a dutiful son. There were elements in the composition of the
senior Delgrado that he did not admire; but he had never before
suspected his father of cowardice. His cousin Julius, whom he thoroughly
disliked, was betraying a whole world of meaning in the scorn that
leaped from his eyes, and there was no mistaking the thoughts that
inspired the furious General and the impassive Greek. For the first time
in his