“When I am engaged in conversation with you, I feel a general sense of agreeable stimulation; and, in addition to that, at this particular moment———But are you sure you really wish to know?” he broke off. “Yes, tell me,” she said, with curiosity. “Well, then, a furious desire to smoke a cigarette.” She laughed merrily. “I am so sorry I have no cigarettes to offer you.” “My pockets happen to be stuffed with them.” “Then, do, please, light one.” He produced his cigarette-case, but he seemed to hesitate about lighting a cigarette. “Have you no matches?” she inquired. “Yes, thank you, I have matches. I was only thinking.” “It has become a solitude, then?” she cried. “It is a case of conscience, it is an ethical dilemma. How do I know—the modern woman is capable of anything—how do I know that you may not yourself be a smoker? But if you are, it will give you pain to see me enjoying my cigarette, while you are without one.” “It would be civil to begin by offering me one,” she suggested. “That is exactly the liberty I dared not take—oh, there are limits to my boldness. But you have saved the situation.” And he offered her his cigarette-case. She shook her head. “Thank you, I don’t smoke.” And her eyes were full of teasing laughter, so that he laughed too, as he finally applied a match-flame to his cigarette. “But you may allow me to examine your cigarette-case,” she went on. “It looks like a pretty bit of silver.” And when he had handed it to her, she exclaimed, “It is engraved with the royal arms.” “Yes. Why not?” said he. “Does it belong to the King?” “It was a present from the King.” “To you? You are a friend of the King?” she asked, with some eagerness. “I will not deceive you,” he replied. “No, not to me. The King gave it to Hilary Clairevoix, the Constable of Bellefontaine; and Hilary, who’s a careless fellow, left it lying about in his music-room, and I came along and pocketed it. It is a pretty bit of silver, and I shall never restore it to its rightful owner if I can help it.” “But you are a friend of the King’s?” she repeated, with insistence. “I have not that honour. Indeed, I have never seen him. I am a friend of Hilary’s; I am his guest. He has stayed with me in England—I am an Englishman—and now I am returning his visit.” “That is well,” said she. “If you were a friend of the King, you would be an enemy of mine.” “Oh?” he wondered. “Why is that?” “I hate the King,” she answered simply. “Dear me, what a capacity you have for hating! This is the second hatred you have avowed within the hour. What has the King done to displease you?” “You are an Englishman. Has the King’s reputation not reached England yet? He is the scandal of Europe. What has he done? But no—do not encourage me to speak of him. I should grow too heated,” she said strenuously.