poet or the dreamer. "I may be deceived
in him, God grant I am, but the face is the face of a sensualist, not of
a leader of men. What we need now for the throne is an inveterate hater
of Russia. We have good leaders, now. We don't want a king who cannot
understand and, consequently, may spoil our best plans."

"Wouldn't he be controlled?"

"You mean by his wife, by Trusia? He may, if she takes his fancy. If
not, he may lose interest, and fall under other control."

"You mean Josef's?"

"Yes."

"It seems complications are likely to arise."

"It is not too late for you to draw out," replied Sobieska coldly.

"I am no quitter." Carter's jaws set grim and hard. Then catching an
elusive humor in the fact that, even as one who might become unfriendly
to him, he should have to accompany this man to Paris, he smiled. So did
Sobieska and a cordial understanding was reestablished.

Paris was reached. Familiar as New York to Carter, he had no difficulty
in guiding his companion directly to the rendezvous near the Quai
D'Orsay.

Although their friends were not yet arrived, they found a corps of
servants had already arranged the house for their reception. As Sobieska
was known to the majestic butler, the travelers had no difficulty in
immediately establishing themselves in the quarters intended for them.

As night drew on, the others came trooping in, ready to do justice to
anything eatable the chef could purvey.

"We had an unexpected rencontre just as we alighted from the train,"
said Trusia. She leaned forward from her place at the table to speak to
Count Sobieska. In doing so, her eyes met Carter's. They were filled
with a gentle regard--a more than friendliness.

"With whom?" asked her Minister of Private Intelligence anxiously, for
this city was the centre of international intrigue and espionage.

"You remember General Vladimar, the former Russian commandant at
Schallberg? It was he. He was very cordial; as cordial as a dangerous
Russian always is."

Sobieska, in assenting, drew in his breath with a sibilant sound through
pursed lips.

"I have every reason to believe he has been transferred to the White
Police," he commented gravely, as he turned his listless glance toward
the girl. "Any one with him--did he give any inkling that he suspected
anything?"

"He must suspect something," said Trusia, "he was so very, very
pleasant. It is impossible for him to know anything, though." She turned
her fine eyes a