Delmotte must no longer know Marie, the model."

The Colonel, who had approached, had overheard this last thing spoken.

"It is possible," the latter hinted, "that he might desire to spare you
the pain of leave taking, as he goes with us from Paris--from your
world."

"Oh, monsieur," she turned appealingly to Carter, her eyes wide in their
efforts to restrain their tears, "is this true?"

Carter nodded his head gravely. Sutphen pressed a fat, black wallet upon
her, which she declined gently.

"As a gift," he insisted.

"Oh, monsieur," she cried reproachfully, and with averted face fled from
the room.

Sheepishly guilty in feeling as only men can be, the party in the studio
awaited expected developments. In a few minutes they heard the approach
of a man's footsteps upon the stairs. All eyes turned curiously toward
the doorway. Nearer came the sounds, nearer, while with increasing
volume their hearts beat responsively. The steps stopped. The waiting
hearts seemed to stand still in sympathy. Then the door opened.

"It is he," whispered Josef. All heads uncovered and each man bowed low.
Delmotte stood petrified with astonishment.

"Messieurs," he said at last, recovering his speech, "messieurs, I am
honored." Then as his eyes lighted on Josef, they sparkled with
unexpected recognition. "You are Petros," he said, puzzled by the
brilliant throng surrounding him.

"Josef Petros Zolsky, Your Majesty. I am your childhood's retainer and
hereditary servitor. Yes, I am he you call Petros," and the white head
bowed low as a gratified light kindled in the crafty eyes.

"Majesty! What the devil--am I crazy? I am not drunk," he added
regretfully.

"Sire," stammered Colonel Sutphen, "sire, you are the King of Krovitch."

"The devil I am," came the prompt response. Nevertheless the artist
threw an affectionate glance at the painting as one might in saying,
"You were my people." The piquancy of the situation caused him to smile.
"Gentlemen," he said, "if this is some hoax, believe me it is in very
poor taste. Taste? Yes, for I haven't eaten in two days. What's your
game? I've just come from a pawnbroker's, where I had gone with the
paltry jewels of a model, to try and secure enough to pay my rent. You
offer me a crown. Corduroys and blouse," he pointed to his garb, "you
tempt me with visions of ermine. A throne to replace my stool, and pages
of history are given for my future canvases. I am starving, gentlemen,"
he said h