“Nothing serious, I assure you. Merely a slight headache and lassitude, which will pass off to-morrow. Rest and quiet are her best medicines. She is too energetic, too eager for work, my dear marquis, but I know that I may count on your consideration.” She went back into her room, and Caerleon pursued his way disappointed. “I shan’t be able to ask her about this wretched kingdom, then,” he grumbled to himself. “But, after all, I know what she thinks, for she gave me her views pretty plainly the last time I talked to her.” “The old gentleman seemed to be in a orful ’urry, my lord,” put in Wright, and Caerleon made a hasty toilet, and entered the coffee-room, where M. Drakovics was marching impatiently from the door to the window and back again. Caerleon would have shaken hands with him, but he drew back with a low bow. “Your Majesty,” he said, “I am here to announce to you that by a _plébiscite_ of the whole nation you are a second time invited to occupy the throne of Thracia. I have with me a petition signed by every member of the Legislative Assembly, and by the mayor of every township and the head of every village community in the country, entreating you to lay aside your scruples, and come to our help. The people will accept any conditions you may choose to make, as to advisers, Civil List, or anything of the kind;--I know that this will not affect your decision,” as Caerleon turned away with an impatient gesture, “but I mention it to show you that the Thracians wish to deal generously with the man who will honour them by taking up their cause against the world.” “I must have the night to think it over,” said Caerleon, after some moments of futile consideration. “You will remain here as my guest, I hope? By the bye, who are all the people outside?” “They are your Majesty’s loyal subjects,” returned M. Drakovics, “who have come here to conduct you, as they hope, in triumph to Bellaviste.” “Very kind of them,” said Caerleon, “but I am not their king yet. This proceeding looks unpleasantly like compulsion, M. Drakovics. I have no idea of being made king by force.” “Your Majesty is entirely mistaken,” returned M. Drakovics in alarm. “These men are here with the sole intention of doing you honour, and of adding their entreaties to mine if you should prove to be still obdurate. They are all patriots, almost in despair for their country, for we are convinced that Scythia is meditating some great blow against us.” “Well, I will think about it,” said Caerleon, and no further allusion was made to the subject during the evening.