or pleasure, more chances of greater
fortune in the future, and while his lips assented to what the others
said, and his eyes thanked them for some expression of loyalty or
confidence, he saw himself in dreams as bright as an absinthe
drinker's, back in his beloved Paris: in the Champs-Elysees behind fine
horses, lolling from a silk box at the opera, dealing baccarat at the
jockey Club, or playing host to some beautiful woman of the hour, in
the new home he would establish for her in the discreet and leafy
borders of the Bois.

He had forgotten his guests and the moment. He had forgotten that
there were difficulties yet to overcome, and with a short, indrawn sigh
of pleasure, he threw back his head and smiled arrogantly upon the
sunny terrace and the green palms and the brilliant blue sea, as though
he challenged the whole beautiful world before him to do aught but
minister to his success and contribute to his pleasures.

And at once, as though in answer to his challenge, a tall, slim young
man sprang lightly up the steps of the terrace, passed the bewildered
guards with a cheery nod, and, striding before the open windows,
knocked with his fist upon the portals of the door, as sharply and as
confidently as though the King's shield had hung there, and he had
struck it with a lance.

The King's dream shattered and faded away at the sound, and he moved
uneasily in his chair. He had the gambler's superstitious regard for
trifles, and this invasion of his privacy by a confident stranger
filled him with sudden disquiet.

He saw Kalonay staring at the open windows with an expression of
astonishment and dismay.

"Who is it?" the King asked, peevishly. "What are you staring at? How
did he get in?"

Kalonay turned on Barrat, sitting at his right. "Did you see him?" he
asked. Barrat nodded gloomily.

"The devil!" exclaimed the Prince, as though Barrat had confirmed his
guess. "I beg your pardon," he said, nodding his head toward the
women. He pushed back his chair and stood irresolutely with his napkin
in his hand. "Tell him we are not in, Niccolas," he commanded.

"He saw us as he passed the window," the Baron objected.

"Say we are at breakfast then. I will see him myself in a moment.
What shall I tell him?" he asked, turning to Barrat. "Do you think he
knows? He must know, they have told him in Paris."

"You are keeping us waiting," said the King. "What is it? Who is this
man?"

"An American named G