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