tell, and he reviewed the adventures of the monk and himself
with such vivacity and humor that the King nodded his head in
delight, and even the priest smiled indulgently at the
recollection.

Kalonay had seated himself on one of the tables, with his feet
on a chair and with a cigarette burning between his fingers.
He was a handsome, dark young man of thirty, with the
impulsive manner of a boy. Dissipation had left no trace on
his face, and his eyes were as innocent of evil and as
beautiful as a girl's, and as eloquent as his tongue. "May
the Maria Santissima pity the girls they look upon," his old
Spanish nurse used to say of them. But Kalonay had shown pity
for every one save himself. His training at an English public
school, and later as a soldier in the Ecole Polytechnique at
Paris, had saved him from a too early fall, and men liked him
instinctively, and the women much too well.

"It was good to be back there again," he cried, with a happy
sigh. "It was good to see the clouds following each other
across the old mountains and throwing black shadows on the
campagna, and to hear the people's patois and to taste
Messinian wine again and to know it was from your own
hillside. All our old keepers came down to the coast to meet
us, and told me about the stag-hunt the week before, and who
was married, and who was in jail, and who had been hanged for
shooting a customs officer, and they promised fine deer
stalking if I get back before the snow leaves the ridges, for
they say the deer have not been hunted and are running wild."
He stopped and laughed. "I forgot," he said, "your Majesty