At the head of the stairs, indeed, His Highness was receiving his guests with all the circumstance of Royalty. He held great state, this puissant prince who had so notably enriched the land of his fathers by an heroic neutrality throughout the war. He wore the blue cordon of the Order of Credit and, over his heart, the Diamond Cross of Discretion. He said: “How do you do, Lord Quorn?” “Thank you, sir, I am very well,” returned my lord. “And you, Mr. Woodhouse Eves?” “Adams to you, sir,” said that gentleman. “But otherwise I am well, thank you.” “Lord Quorn,” His Highness cordially continued, “I am really most pleased that you could accept my invitation.” “You do me too much honour, sir. And may I take it that your courtesy in selecting me for an invitation for your probably enjoyable ball is a sign of your gracious forgiveness?” “You may, Lord Quorn.” “Then I have the honour, sir, to declare myself, without any reserve whatsoever, to be your Highness’s most obedient servant.” “And I, sir,” said Mr. Woodhouse Adams. “Gentlemen,” said His Highness, “you are very kind.” “Your condescension, sir, but points our crudity,” protested my lord. “May I, however, further trespass on your indulgence by asking to be allowed to enroll myself as the humblest among your daughter’s suitors?” “We can talk this matter out more comfortably,” said His Highness agreeably, “in my study. Ho, there! Ho, page!” “_Altesse!_” “Conduct milord Quorn and Mr. Woodhouse Eves to my study, and see to it that they have suitable refreshment. Lord Quorn, I will join you not a moment after I have received my guests.” “I’m not sure I like this study business,” said Mr. Woodhouse Adams as they followed the page through many halls and corridors to a distant part of the house in the walled garden. They passed through marble halls radiant with slender columns and crystal fountains, through arcades flaming with flowers in vases of Venetian glass, beneath sombre tapestries of the chase after fabulous beasts, by tables of satinwood and cabinets of ebony, jade and pearl: until at last they were conducted to a quiet-seeming door, and were no sooner within than what appeared to be a regiment of Hussars of Death or Honour had pinioned their arms to their sides. “This is outrage!” cried my lord with very cold eyes. “Gentlemen, you are under arrest,” said an officer with moustachios whose name the chronicler has unfortunately overlooked. “We’re under what?” cried Mr. Woodhouse Adams. “And you will await His Highness’s pleasure in this room,” said the officer with moustachios, but he had no sooner spoken than the Duke entered, followed by a lean young officer with pitiless eyes. “_Altesse!_” saluted the Hussars of Death or Honour. Not so Lord Quorn. “Sir,” cried he, “this is outrage and assault on the persons of King George’s subjects. Do you forget that you are in England, sir?” “Silence!” thundered the officer with moustachios.