"Really, Baron, for a diplomat you grow too absent-minded," commiserated Allard softly to his vis-à-vis. "One might have imagined you intended that his Royal Highness should open the door himself." "Since Monsieur Allard has become so learned in etiquette, he might observe that the Emperor is waiting," Dalmorov retorted viciously. Allard shot a glance at Adrian, who had turned round just in time to witness the whole scene. "At least, if I offend, I am careful to offend one who can retaliate, Baron," he flung back in an undertone, as he moved in quest of the article demanded. "Who can, and whom you are in no position to provoke," Dalmorov sent after him, incautiously raising his tone with a bitter significance which the other failed to comprehend. "When you are at leisure, gentlemen," Adrian's voice interposed coolly. "Dalmorov, I would suggest that you follow my cousin and explain your unfortunate lapse of memory. Allard, I believe I made a request." There was little Allard could not have forgiven to Adrian for sending Dalmorov to make that apology. "I beg a thousand pardons, sire," he answered contentedly as he crossed the room. After all Adrian did not look at his ship, but remained leaning against the window with his reflective gaze fixed on the other's face. "I wonder," he remarked, when the door had closed behind Dalmorov, "if you do things like that because you are an American." Surprised, Allard smiled involuntarily. "Perhaps, sire, we are rather _sans gêne_." "You misunderstand me," he corrected. "I mean, do you act as the others would not, because you are not my subject as they are?" Allard understood then, and the implied accusation stung him to hot anger. "No, sire," he flashed. "I have not lived under your shelter and eaten your bread to hide beneath another flag when the scale turns. I am an American, yes, but I do not use my nationality as a cloak for cowardice. So far, I have become your subject by entering your service." Not until long afterward did Allard read the slow, half-amused smile that rose to the surface of the Emperor's dark eyes. "Very good, we shall remember, Monsieur _l'Américain_," he returned, quite untroubled by the other's indignation. "Do not complain if some day I interfere with your affairs." His affairs? Allard puzzled mentally. But he received no further explanation, and neither to him nor Dalmorov did Adrian again mention the incident. Stanief looked very grave when Allard repeated the scene to him. "You have made an active enemy of Dalmorov instead of a passive," was his comment. "Why should I care, monseigneur? Where you go, I follow, when the end comes." "The end," Stanief echoed dreamily. "Everything does not end for us at once, John; we leave our treasures all along the path as we journey."