The first break in the clouds became visible at the mid-day meal, which might be considered either as a late breakfast or as an early lunch, and at which Princess Ottilie did not appear. She was not very well, her mother said, and had decided to remain in her room for the day; and she herself sent a special message to Caerleon to the effect that her indisposition was caused by grief regarding the anxiously expected Paris dress, which had indeed arrived, but was horribly cut, and made her look hideous. King Johann received the excuse with considerable seriousness, and remarked that his daughter had an undisciplined mind, and he hoped that Caerleon would teach her to be less frivolous when they were married; but it was evident that he regarded the cause of the illness as amply sufficient under the circumstances, and Caerleon recalled with some amusement the Princess’s words in the forest. He could afford to be amused now, for he guessed that Princess Ottilie intended on the morrow to urge her indisposition as a reason for postponing the betrothal; and, although the means were not such as he would have chosen, he was so nearly desperate by this time as to be ready to snatch at any prospect of escape. Hence he also was able to leave the castle cheerfully, and even to endure with patience the chaff in which Cyril indulged as they rode through the forest, although it dealt chiefly with engagement-rings and loss of bachelor freedom, and similar well-worn and appropriate themes. The afternoon passed quickly, in its unwonted freedom from the Princess’s rather exacting society, and with the dusk arrived M. Drakovics, who had journeyed from Bellaviste expressly for the purpose of being present at the betrothal ceremony. Much to Caerleon’s relief, he made no pretence of congratulation, and displayed no special interest in the event of the morrow; but immediately after dinner produced a vast pile of reports and returns on the subject of the new liquor laws, and invited the King to go through them with him. Caerleon was only too glad to welcome any work that promised to distract his mind from the gnawing anxiety which assailed him whenever he reflected that it was possible that Princess Ottilie might not be able to carry out her plan after all, and he threw himself into the task with avidity. With Cyril it was otherwise. He was consumed by an intense restlessness, a haunting fear lest some unforeseen catastrophe should interfere with his schemes just as they were on the point of realisation; and he wandered from room to room, pausing now and then to turn over with unquiet fingers the documents which the other two were perusing so strenuously. “What’s up, Cyril? Anything wrong?” asked Caerleon at last. “Only the fidgets, as old nurse used to say when I was a kid. I’m as much excited as if it was I who was going to be betrothed to-morrow instead of you. I can’t keep quiet. I think I shall go for a walk.” “Now? at this time of night?”