“Last night? Queer that you should just have happened to drop in upon them.” This was all that passed between them on the subject, for Cyril was resolved never to reveal the crowning deception of which he had been the victim. He could only hope that Princess Ottilie would be equally reticent. The brothers breakfasted alone; and after the meal Cyril hurried Caerleon off to the mountains, in dire fear lest an emissary from Schloss Herzensruh should appear before he had arranged his plan of action with M. Drakovics. As soon as his brother had left the house he obtained admission to the Premier’s room, where M. Drakovics was devouring a blue-book full of statistics simultaneously with his breakfast. He looked up in some surprise as Cyril entered. “You are early, milord.” “Are you prepared to meet a great emergency, monsieur?” M. Drakovics collected his thoughts, and was prepared immediately. “You need not tell me what the emergency is, milord. The King refuses to fulfil his engagement.” “Not at all. The Princess has bolted.” “Bolted?” inquired M. Drakovics, mildly. “Yes, bolted--cut and run, eloped, with the Prince of Dardania.” “But is it too late to stop them?” “Quite. They were married last night.” “But this is appalling, milord!” “It is bad enough; but there is worse behind. My brother was in the plot.” “Impossible, milord! You cannot tell me that his Majesty would enter into an agreement to make himself the laughing-stock of the world?” “It is unfortunately too true that my brother only engaged himself to the Princess that he might help her to carry out this design of hers. Of course the Queen was in it as well. Between them they have made a good deal of use of him. I am as much astonished as you can possibly be that he should have listened to them for an instant.” “Ah! that admission scarcely accords with the claim which you advanced some time ago to a complete knowledge of his Majesty’s character,” said M. Drakovics, looking up with a smile which was more like a snarl. “You have a right to make any remarks you please on the subject,” said Cyril, quietly. “They cannot be more bitter than those I have been making to myself. In fact, I have no doubt that we could pass an hour or two very pleasantly in exchanging a series of mutual recriminations. But if you are the man I think you, you will not waste time in squabbling, but will join with me in using the few minutes we have before us in taking measures which may yet turn this crushing defeat into a triumph.” “Milord, you are superb!” said M. Drakovics, looking at him with heartfelt if somewhat reluctant admiration. “You have the true diplomatic spirit. I accept your rebuke willingly, and rejoice that I have such a colleague at my side in this crisis. What are the measures you would propose?”