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Updated: June 23, 2025
The pause belonged to them their moment of reprieve. At last she said quietly: "But you are stupid not to guess it." "Guess what?" he inquired. "There is no Pagratide. Pagratide's real name is Karyl of Galavia." If the living-room at "Idle Times" bore the impress of Van Bristow's individuality and taste, his den was the tangible setting of his personality.
That is long since a stale story. Our governments, acting in concert, made it possible to remove Karyl and crown Louis." He smiled quietly. "You know how short a reign Louis enjoyed before death claimed him. Perhaps you do not know that his death was not unforeseen by me." There was an outburst of exclamations under which France's representative remained unmoved.
Twisting spirals of smoke curled ceilingward. Von Ritz and Benton, kneeling at the King's side, raised him from the floor. The wounded man attempted to speak. His eyes turned inquiringly toward the door of the other room. Benton caught the questioning look and nodded his head. Then Karyl settled back against the officer's supporting shoulder after the fashion of a reassured child.
"The King is hardly in a position that warrants declining to receive me," he announced with an ironically ceremonious bow to Karyl. He was imperturbable and impeccable from his patent-leather pumps to the Legion of Honor ribbon in his lapel. "I offer the King an opportunity to abdicate his throne and retain his liberty.
We must find a way to set him free." "I have done all that could be done. I have stationed men whom I can trust throughout Puntal and Galavia. They are men Karyl likewise thinks he can trust. The distinction is that I know where he merely thinks." "And these men what have they done?" The Countess laid one gloved hand eagerly on the Frenchman's coat-sleeve.
Less than ten minutes had elapsed since the sentinel had been pacing below. Jusseret, passing unostentatiously out through the Palace gate, glanced at his watch and smiled. It had been excellently managed. Later, Karyl recovered consciousness to find things little changed. He was lying on a leather couch in his own rooms.
"Can you spare me a half-hour?" Benton nodded. He would have preferred any other time. He needed opportunity for self-collection. Again Karyl spoke. "Benton, I might as well be brief. There are two of us. In this world there is room for only one. One of us is an interloper." The American felt the blood rush to his face; he felt it pound at the back of his eyeballs, at the base of his brain.
The girl, who in the more informal phases had consistently defied the Court etiquette, sent an affirmative reply, and Karyl, still in uniform and dust-stained, came at once to the rooms where she was to receive him. There was much to talk of, and the King came forward eagerly, but the girl halted his protestations and rapidly sketched for him the summary of all she had learned that afternoon.
With growing astonishment Karyl listened, then slowly his brows came together in a frown. It was distasteful to him beyond expression to feel that he owed his life and throne to Benton, but of that he said nothing. Lapas had been, in the days of his childhood, his playmate.
He raised his hands questioningly, appealingly. "You," replied the older soldier calmly, "are the King." "Yes," Karyl caught up the words almost before they had fallen from the lips of the other. "Yes, I am the King. I am the miserable, gilded figurehead out on the prow, which serves no end and no purpose. I am the ornamental symbol of a system which the world is discarding!
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