ounced cheerily. "She was a
bit upset, I suppose, by our warlike talk; but we were so excited that
we forgot she was present. Well, father, what say you to my proposal?"

Prince Michael turned. His face was no longer in the light. Perhaps that
was his notion when he first approached the window. "I think it is an
excellent one," he said. "Of course, there is a regrettable element of
risk----"

"But what are we to understand?" broke in Stampoff's gruff accents.
"These things are not to be settled as a shopkeeper appoints an agent.
Does your Highness renounce all claim to the throne of Kosnovia in favor
of your son?"

Words have a peculiar value on such occasions. The substitution of
"Highness" for "Majesty" was not devoid of significance; for Stampoff,
though loyal to the backbone, was no courtier.

"No!" cried Alec sharply.

"Yes," said Prince Michael, after a pause.

Count Julius Marulitch breathed heavily, and Constantine Beliani threw a
wary eye over Alec.

"Good!" said Stampoff. "That clears the air. I shall be ready to
accompany your Majesty by the train that leaves the Gare de l'Est at
seven-thirty P.M."

Prince Michael laughed dryly. "You see," he said. "I was sure Stampoff
would interfere with my dinner hour."

There was almost a touch of genius in the remark. Its very vacuity told
of the man's exceeding unfitness for the role thrust upon him by certain
desperadoes in the far off Balkans.

"We must have money," growled Stampoff with a most unflattering lack of
recognition of the elder Delgrado's humor.

"Ah!" said Prince Michael, plunging both hands into his trousers'
pockets and keeping them there.

"How much?" inquired Beliani.

"To begin with, fifty thousand francs. After that, all that can be
raised."

"It is most unfortunate, but my--er--investments have been singularly
unremunerative of late," said his Serene Highness.

"Why fifty thousand francs?" inquired Alec, half choked with wrath at
sight of his father's obvious relief when the terrifying phantom of the
Black Castle was replaced by this delectable Paris. Yet, with it all, he
was aware of a consuming desire to laugh. There was a sense of utter
farce in thus disposing of the affairs of nations in a flat in the Rue
Boissiere. He recalled the exiled potentates of the music hall review,
and the bitter wit of the dramatist was now justified. It was ludicrous,
too, of Stampoff to address him as "your Majesty."

"Even Kings must give bri