William was the older and subtler. He laid his hand affectionately on his new friend’s shoulder. “I have suspected something of your father’s ultimate plans for you,” he said. “Now I am sure. I can help you as much as you can help me. The next time we are alone, turn the tables and ask me as many questions as you like. There is no reason why you should ever remind yourself that I am an Emperor--why our friendship should not be as informal and sincere as that of your charming sister and the daughter of the Emperor of Austria.” “Do you know my sister?” “Of course, and since she was twelve years old. But her chosen friend is my sworn enemy.” * * * * * That night, in the retirement of his state-room, Fessenden brushed his hair backward and his mustache upright. The Emperor at dinner had drawn his coils more closely. He had been brilliant, demonstrative, instructive, humorous, almost unegotistical. He had made Fessenden shine without asking a question, and he had toasted Mr. Abbott in the effusive rhetoric with which one ripened sovereign disguises his fear of another. Fessenden forgot his long array of self-made heroes--even those who had been cradled in purple and yet ridden victoriously through the pages of history. He took up an autographed picture of William, presented at parting, and studied it attentively, then regarded his own smooth young face with dissatisfaction. “However,” he thought, “in his earlier photographs he had even less character than I have. It’s since he got his own way that he’s put it on with a brush. I suppose I can have that eagle roll of the eye in time, too, if I choose, and square my iron jaw, and look as if I were hewn out of finely tempered steel. He has a sensitive mouth, all the same.” In a moment he parted his short hair rapidly and brushed his mustache into a dejected curve. “I’d like to see myself!” he thought, with some irritation. “He _would_ have the laugh on me to-morrow!” He sat for an hour and pondered deeply on all that had passed between himself and the Emperor of Germany that day. Then he started up suddenly, opened the door of the adjoining state-room, and awakened his father. “What does William want?” he demanded. “Europe and South America,” murmured Mr. Abbott sleepily. XXII