The King entered, and the inspector still accompanied him. "There may be others locked inside," he said, by way of explanation. They passed through a short corridor and ascended stairs; a small electric pocket-lamp of the inspector's showing them the way. Three doors he unfastened in turn. Having opened the last he switched on the light, then respectfully drew back, presuming to come no further. "This is where your Majesty's private apartments begin," said he; an indication that his task as conductor was over. "Ah, yes," replied the King, "now at last I know where I am. Till this moment I felt myself a stranger. I have to thank you, Mr. Inspector, for the kind way in which you have done me the honors of my own house; and," he added, "of the police-station." "I am very sorry, sir, that any such thing should have happened. I can promise it won't occur again." "No," said the King, smiling, "I suppose not. But pray do not be sorry! I have seldom spent a more interesting time; or--thanks to you and others--had more things given me to think about." The inspector did not reply; he stood looking down, pensive and resigned--tired, perhaps, now that the anxieties of the last few hours were over. "Good-night," said the King. "Good-night, sir," replied the inspector. He withdrew and the King heard him locking the door after him. II The King went into his study, turned on a light, and sat down. He had, as he had told his guide, many things to think about. It was no use going to bed, for he knew that he could not sleep. These last few hours had been the most wonderful, and the most crowded--yes, quite literally the most crowded--that he had ever experienced. At last he had really taken part in the life of his people, and had come into direct contact with things very diverse and contradictory, representing the popular will. He had talked with street urchins, and visionaries, had rubbed shoulders with men of brutal habit and vile character,--with knaves, cowards, fools; he had been shut up with drunkards and pickpockets, policemen's thumbs had left bruises upon his arms, and all his mind was one great bruise from the bureaucratic police system which had him fast within its grip. Now at last he knew that he knew nothing; for only now did he realize it. To what was going on outside his ears had been stopped with official lies; morally, intellectually, and physically he was a prisoner, just as much as when, to the cry of "Old Goggles," from a jeering crowd, he had marched captive to the police-station. He knew now that even his private life was watched and spied on--always, of course, with the most benevolent intentions. This was the price he paid for modern kingship; and what was it all worth?