Vietnam or Thailand ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
Updated: June 26, 2025
"Gentlemen," she cried, "the King of Krovitch!" "The King! The King!" came the ready response. Each toaster crashed his glass in token that no less worthy sentiments should ever be drunk from it. When the loyal cries had faded into a ghostly silence, the tall, pale girl spoke again. "This night, my lords and gentlemen, you go, after two centuries, to call him back unto his own.
Before he had reached the corner, the subject of this speculation had forgotten, for the nonce, all about Krovitch and her troubles. His wearied mind like a recalcitrant hunter at a stiffish fence had thrown off the idea as too much weight to carry. A week later he was to be reminded of the episode at the club. Its effects led him far afield into a tale of romance, intrigue, war and women.
"Carrick," he said indignantly, "that country ought to be free. Russia stole it by a shabby trick. Two hundred years ago the reigning king of Krovitch was a chap called Stovik. The head of another royal family there named Augustus was his rival for the crown.
Carrick's tone raised a question. "Why? Don't you?" "Oh, I don't know, sir. They've all taken it on the run for some reason or other. Maybe the Krovitch army is already mobilized." "Egad, Carrick, that is a possibility. I never thought of that. Suppose I expected them to wait for us. We don't want to miss the opening gun. Hump her up for all she's worth. Full speed and never mind the jolts."
We have so much time to find them." The sarcasm was crushing. "They probably were lost or destroyed years ago." He concluded temporizingly, under the compelling eyes gazing coldly at him. "Documents of that kind are never lost or destroyed," Josef announced dogmatically. "Where are they then? In Krovitch?" The sub-chief sneered. "No."
"Yes," replied the Krovitzer, confining himself to the naked assent. Then, pitying the man who had been so wofully shaken since their parting in Krovitch, he opened the gate of Pity a bit and added, "She is in New York." Carter stopped short in the street and turned to read in the other's eyes whether this promised miracle was true or false.
"Josef Petros Zolsky, Your Majesty. I am your childhood's retainer and hereditary servitor. Yes, I am he you call Petros," and the white head bowed low as a gratified light kindled in the crafty eyes. "Majesty! What the devil am I crazy? I am not drunk," he added regretfully. "Sire," stammered Colonel Sutphen, "sire, you are the King of Krovitch." "The devil I am," came the prompt response.
"Highness, this may be of greatest interest to some one not present when Johann, the messenger, was apprehended. It may also be of secret importance to Krovitch, to Your Highness. Is Josef necessary here? Surely he can offer neither testimony nor enlightenment." Though cautioned to stay within call, Josef was dismissed to his unrevealed disappointment.
Well past the allotted span of years, he has prayed to be spared until the day when he can anoint the head of the King of Krovitch. Then, he says, he will die joyously." The King murmured his hopes for a longer life for the Bishop, and Trusia turned to present her chaperon, the Countess Muhlen-Sarkey, with the remaining gentlemen of the Court.
"I brought him here so that if Russia won, I could save my dupe. If Krovitch won, a true revelation of his real status would make him my debtor for life." "Why?" Sobieska asked amid a stillness freighted with the prophecy of a startling revelation. All held their breath as Josef, turning slowly from countenance to countenance, read the disdain which he inspired.
Word Of The Day
Others Looking