It was very late in the evening of the day following that on which the King had paid his unexpected visit to The Islands,--and David Jost had just returned from a comic opera-house, where he had supped in private with two or three painted heroines of the footlights. He was in an excellent humour with himself. He had sprung a mine on the public; and a carefully-concocted rumour of war with a foreign power had sent up certain stocks and shares in which he had considerable interest. He smiled, as he thought of the general uneasiness he was creating by a few headlines in his newspaper; and he enjoyed to the full the tranquil sense of having flung a bone of discord between two nations, in order to watch them from his arm-chair fighting like dogs for it tooth and claw, till one or the other gave in. “Lutera will have to thank me for this,” he said to himself; “And he will owe me both a place and a title!” He sat down at his desk in his warm and luxuriously-furnished study,--turned over a few letters, and then glanced up at the clock. Its hands pointed to within a few minutes of midnight. Taking up a copy of his own newspaper, he frowned slightly, as he saw that a certain leading article in favour of the Jesuit settlement in the country had not appeared. “Crowded out, I suppose, for want of space,” he said; “I must see that it goes in to-morrow. These Jesuits know a thing or two; and they are not going to plank down a thousand pounds for nothing. They have paid for their advertisement, and they must have it. They ought to have had it to-day. Lutera must warn the King that it will not do to offend the Church. There’s a lot of loose cash lying idle in the Vatican,--we may as well have some of it! His Majesty has acted most unwisely in refusing to grant the religious Orders the land they want. He must be persuaded to yield it to them by degrees,--in exchange of course for plenty of cash down, without loss of dignity!” At that moment the door-bell rang softly, as if it were pulled with extreme caution. A servant answered it, and at once came to his master’s room. “A gentleman to see you, sir, on business,” he said. Jost looked up. “On business? At this time of night? Say I cannot see him--tell him to come again to-morrow!” The servant withdrew, only to return again with a more urgent statement. “The gentleman says he must see you, sir; he comes from the Premier.” “From the Premier?” “Yes, sir; his business is urgent, he says, and private. He sent in his card, sir.” Here he handed over the card in question, a small, unobtrusive bit of pasteboard, laid in solitary grandeur on a very large silver salver. David Jost took it up, and scanned it with some curiosity. “‘Pasquin Leroy’! H’m! Don’t know the name at all. ‘Urgent business; bear private credentials from the Marquis de Lutera’!” He paused again, considering,--then turned to the waiting attendant. “Show him in.”. “Yes, sir!”