Morris, the landlord of "The Merry Dancer"--which was the name of the inn--was a burly man, and usually extremely self-important. On this night he excelled himself, and looked as swollen as the frog in the fable. That two Princesses should stay in his house was an honor which overwhelmed him. To be sure, they were foreigners, which made a difference; still, they had titles, and plenty of money, and for all Morris knew--as he observed to his flustered wife--might be exiled sovereigns. Morris received Giles in his best clothes, and bowed himself to the ground. "Yes, Mr. Ware, their Highnesses are within--on the first floor, Mr. Ware, having engaged a salon and two bedrooms." "I didn't know you had a salon, Morris!" said Giles, his eyes twinkling. "For the time being I call it such," replied the landlord grandly. "My daughter is a French scholar, Mr. Ware, and called the sitting-room by that name. Me and Mrs. Morris and Henrietta Morris wish to make their Highnesses feel at home. Allow me to conduct you, sir, to the salon of their Highnesses. The garkong is engaged with the dejune, along with the femmie de chambers, who also waits." "You are quite a French scholar, Morris." "Henrietta Morris, my daughter--or I should say, mon filly--has instructed me in the languidge, sir. This way to the salon, sir," and Morris marshalled the way with the air of a courtier of Louis XIV. Giles entered the sitting-room, which was pretty and quaint but extremely unpretentious, bubbling over with laughter. Olga came forward, and catching sight of his face, laughed also as she shook hands with him. "I see you know the jest," she said. "Morris informed me of it as soon as I entered his door. Why have you come down to this dull place, Princess?" "Ah, no"--she made a pretty gesture of annoyance--"you must to-night call me Olga----" "I should not think of taking such a liberty," said Giles quickly. Olga pouted. "Then, Mademoiselle Olga," said she, "my mother you must call the Princess Karacsay. Will you allow me, Mr. Ware, to present you to my mother?" She led the young man forward, and he found himself bowing to a stout lady, who at one time must have been beautiful, but in whom age had destroyed a great amount of her good looks. She was darker than her daughter, and had a languid, indolent air, which seemed to account for her stoutness. Evidently she never took exercise. Her face was still beautiful, and she had the most glorious pair of dark eyes. Her hair was silvery, and contrasted strangely with her swart face. One would have thought that she had African blood in her. She wore a yellow dress trimmed with black lace, and many jewels twinkled on her neck and arms and in her hair. Her tastes, like her appearance, were evidently barbaric. In this cold, misty island she looked like some gorgeous tropical bird astray.