my
girl ... d'ye know, she's been expecting me for supper since midnight."

"More supper?"

"Of course ... there's plenty of room left."

With some difficulty the stranger managed to give the address, 247 Rue
de Monceau.

"All right," said Fandor to himself, "we'll have some fun; after all,
what do I risk?"

While the taxi shook them violently from side to side, Fandor grew
comparatively sober. He examined his companion more closely and was
surprised to see how well he carried himself in spite of his condition.

"Well," he summed up, "he certainly has a jag, but it's a royal jag!"

CHAPTER II

MOTHER CITRON'S TENANTS

"Now you've forgotten the fish knives and forks! Do you expect my lover
to eat with his fingers like that old Chinaman I had for three months
last year!"

Susy d'Orsel spoke with a distinct accent of the Faubourg, which
contrasted strangely with her delicate and distinguished appearance.

Justine, her maid, stood staring in reply.

"But, Madame, we have lobsters...."

"What's that got to do with it, they're fish, ain't they?"

The young woman left the table and went into the adjoining room, a small
drawing-room, elegantly furnished in Louis XV style.

"Justine," she called.

"Madame."

"Here's another mistake. You mustn't get red orchids. Throw these
out.... I want either mauve or yellow ones.... You know those are the
official colors of His Majesty."

"Queer taste his ... His Majesty has for yellow."

"What's that to do with you. Get a move on, lay the table."

"I left the _pate de foie gras_ in the pantry with ice round it."

"All right."

The young woman returned to the dining-room and gave a final glance at
the preparations.

"He's a pretty good sort, my august lover." Justine started in surprise.

"August! Is that a new one?"

Susy d'Orsel could hardly repress a smile.

"Mind your own business. What time is it?"

"A quarter to twelve, Madame." And as the girl started to leave the room
she ventured:

"I hope M. August won't forget me, to-morrow morning."

"Why, you little idiot, his name isn't August, it's Frederick-Christian!
You have about as much sense as an oyster!"

The maid looked so crestfallen at this that Susy added, good-naturedly:

"That's all right, Justine, A Happy New Year anyway, and don't worry.
And now get out; His Majesty wants nobody about but me this evening."

Susy d'Orsel, in spite of her physical charms, had found life hard
durin