state affairs. He was there because he elected to stand mentor to the
son of his life-long friend, even though that son was a prince of the
blood and controlled by the will of three regents chosen by his own
subjects. He was there to watch over the doughty little chap, who one
day would be ruler unrestrained, but who now was a boy to be loved and
coddled and reprimanded in the general process of man-making.

To say that the tiny Prince loved his big, adoring mentor would be
putting it too gently: he idolised him. Tullis was father, mother and
big brother to the little fellow in knickers.

The American was a big, broad shouldered man, reddish haired and ruddy
cheeked, with cool grey eyes; his sandy mustache was closely cropped and
turned up ever so slightly at the corners of his mouth. Despite his
colouring, his face was somewhat sombre--even stern--when in repose. It
was his fine, enveloping smile that made friends for him wherever he
listed, with men and with women. More frequently than otherwise it made
more than friends of the latter.

One woman in Graustark was the source of never-ending and constantly
increasing interest to this stalwart companion to the Prince. That woman
was, alas! the wife of another man. Moreover, she was the daughter of
the Duke of Perse.

The young and witty Countess of Marlanx came often to Edelweiss. She was
a favourite at the Castle, notwithstanding the unhealthy record of her
ancient and discredited husband, the Iron Count. Tullis had not seen
the Count, but he had heard such tales of him that he could not but
pity this glorious young creature who called him husband. There is an
old saying about the kinship of pity. Not that John Tullis was actually