"Not yet, please," a voice said quietly; then a hand reached out from the interior of the limousine, dropped upon Mr. Narkom's shoulder and, tightening there, drew him over the step and into the car. "Your old seat, my friend. Here beside me. My memory is not a short one and my affections not fickle. All right _now_, Lennard. Let her go!" Then the door closed with a smack, the limousine came round with a swing, and, just as in those other days when it was the Law that called, not the trumpet-peal from a throne, the car went bounding off at the good old mile-a-minute clip on its fly-away race for London. * * * * * It ended, that race, in front of the Mauravanian embassy; and Cleek's love for the spectacular must have come near to being surfeited that night, for the building was one blaze of light, one glamour of flags and flowers and festooned bunting; and looking up the steps, down which a crimson carpet ran across the pavement to the very kerbstone, he could see a double line of soldiers in the glittering white-and-silver of the Mauravanian Royal Guard,--plumed and helmeted--standing with swords at salute waiting to receive him; and over the arched doorway the royal arms emblazoned, and above them--picked out in winking gas-jets--a wreath of laurel surrounding the monogram M. R., which stood for Maximilian Rex, aflame against a marble background. "Here we are at last, sir," said Narkom as the car stopped (he had learned, by this time, that "Sire" belonged to the stage and the Middle Ages), and, alighting, held back the door that Cleek might get out. Afterward he declared that that was the proudest moment of his life; for if it was not the proudest of Cleek's, his looks belied him. For, as his foot touched the crimson carpet, a band within swung into the stately measure of the Mauravanian National Anthem, an escort came down the hall and down the steps and lined up on either side of him, and if ever man looked proud of his inheritance, that man was he. He went on up the steps and down the long hall with a chorus of "Vivat Maximilian! Vivat le roi!" following him and the sound of the National Anthem ringing in his ears; then, all of a moment, the escort fell back, doors opened, he found himself in a room that blazed with lights, that echoed with the sound of many vivats, the stir of many bodies, and looking about saw that he was surrounded by a kneeling gathering and that one man in particular was at his feet, sobbing. He looked down and saw that that man was Irma, and smiled and put out his hand. The count bent over and touched it with his lips. "Majesty, I never forgot! Majesty, I worked for it, fought for it ever since that night!" he said. "I would have fought for it ever if it need have been. But it was not. See, it was not. It was God's will and it was our people's."