“Intrude, monsieur! The sight of you is a perfect feast for our eyes,” was the reply, in very rapid French. “We rejoice to greet one of your nation. Once we regarded all Englishmen as our friends, now there is an exception”--the thin man at the table growled indistinctly--“but there is no need to proscribe a whole people for the fault of one man. Let me present to you General Banics, formerly governor to his Majesty the King of Thracia, now master of the household to her Majesty Queen Ernestine. General, pray do me a similar kindness.” “Monsieur,” growled the General, “permit me to present to you M. Peter Stefanovics, grand chamberlain to her Majesty. The coffee is growing cold, Stefanovics.” “All in good time,” cried M. Stefanovics, ushering Mansfield into his place, and bowing himself to the head of the table. “Who can think of coffee when one sees a new face? We are quite free and easy at this meal, M. Mansfield, and wait upon ourselves. Madame Stefanovics does not appear so early in the day.” Mansfield struggled with a look of astonishment, for the meal which the two Thracians considered as breakfast he had regarded as a midday lunch. M. Stefanovics caught his glance. “Ah, you wonder at our hours, monsieur! But picture to yourself our life--what is one to do here? We rise, we eat, we proceed to the Institution to pay our respects to her Majesty, and inquire her orders. It is very rarely that she honours us with any. We take, perhaps, a walk or a ride for health’s sake. We return here, the General sets to work at the military history he is writing, and I--I go to sleep! Madame Stefanovics spends the afternoon and evening in attendance upon her Majesty. We dine, we end the day with a game of cards or dominoes. What would you have? Sometimes her Majesty is good enough to make an errand for one of us into Damascus, sometimes one has a week’s leave of absence. Then what dissipation, monsieur! One is accustomed to Bellaviste, to Vindobona--can you conceive that one feels a visit to Damascus to be a riotous affair?” “But why does the Queen condemn you to such a life?” asked Mansfield indignantly. “What right has she to keep you----” “Monsieur!” cried General Banics, bristling up like a tiger. M. Stefanovics laid a soothing hand upon his arm. “Calm yourself, General. Our friend does not understand. You may not be aware, monsieur, that General Banics refused the post offered him in the King’s household in order to attend her Majesty here. The unhappy events----” “Stefanovics, you talk too fast,” growled the General.