The reader will without doubt expect to hear that the King appeared in public at his usual hour the next morning, bearing the traces of the night’s vigil in his haggard face and deeply lined brow; that he went through the day’s business with invincible resolution, but with an abstracted manner, the gloom of which was lightened by an occasional unconquerable sigh; and that he frequently put his hand to his forehead as though to push back the brooding weight of care which oppressed him. It is disappointing to be obliged to chronicle the fact that Caerleon made no attempt to act in this heroic but rather harrowing fashion. He did not appear at all outside his own rooms, but remained shut up in his study, where he buried himself in the piles of blue-books and parliamentary reports for which he had sent to London, growling at Cyril through the door when he besieged him in his retreat, and sending word to M. Drakovics that if he had anything special to communicate he might state his message in writing. For three days he laboured unceasingly, consulting authorities, drawing up, testing, and destroying draft schemes, guarded by the faithful Wright, who had been summoned from the stables by a sudden message from his master, and informed all comers that “’is Majesty was not to be disturbed.” The fact that he would have found great pleasure in knocking the Premier down, if he had attempted to force an entrance into the room, undoubtedly contributed to the success of his guardianship. It happened fortunately that nothing occurred during the three days to render necessary an interview between the King and his Minister, and Cyril and M. Drakovics, giving out that Caerleon had not yet recovered from the illness which had attacked him at the ball, took things into their own hands, and got through a large amount of important business. In so far as international politics were concerned, their course lay at present chiefly in the direction of bluff, for the Powers, scarcely recovered from their surprise at Caerleon’s election, had not as yet determined upon the action to be taken in the matter. Notes and protests were flying about from cabinet to cabinet, and the papers announced daily, with awful and mysterious joy, that such and such a statesman had been closeted for over an hour with such and such a potentate, or that this great personage had visited that great personage, and that each had emerged from the interview with a clouded brow. In England, Parliament was enjoying a long recess, and the few stray politicians who were in the habit of arrogating to themselves an interest in the peace of Europe were reduced to writing frantic letters to the papers to demand that a special session should be summoned immediately for the purpose of dethroning Caerleon, or else to inquire why the Government did not at once recognise him as King of Thracia, according to the direction taken by their respective sympathies.