Two days later, Cyril, with his train of attendants, was established in the village inn, to the huge delight of the landlord, whose self-satisfaction made itself felt even in Damascus, leading, as it did, to visions of a huge hotel, to be built _alla Franca_ on the site of the present modest edifice, and to become renowned throughout the Levant as a sanatorium. On the evening of Cyril’s arrival, General Banics, with fierce disinclination bristling in every hair of his moustache, took his way across the courtyard in uniform to inquire after his health, and to intimate that her Majesty had been pleased to consent to receive him the next day. The reception was a very formal, full-dress affair, designed for the sole benefit of the Thracian officials and Fräulein von Staubach, who had been excluded from the secret of the desert reconciliation owing to a well-grounded distrust of her discretion. Still, since she believed firmly that the Queen had returned to ordinary life solely on account of her letter, despatched after Mansfield’s first visit to Brutli, she was not without her compensations. Everything was done with great ceremony, and the deaconesses and their Syrian flock were duly impressed, while Cyril was so much exhausted that he could scarcely mount his horse to ride back to the inn. The suggestion of the formal audience had been his own, however, and his return was followed by a message brought by M. Stefanovics, to the effect that her Majesty had been grieved to see how ill Count Mortimer was looking, and that she hoped he would avail himself of her pleasant sheltered garden whenever he felt well enough to be out of doors. It was not to be expected that his presence should exclude the Queen from her own domain, or that their meeting there should be marked by the formality of the state reception, and towards the end of the first afternoon Fräulein von Staubach, who had been in attendance, crept noiselessly into the house, and ran to the room where Baroness von Hilfenstein and Madame Stefanovics were sitting. “It is all settled! They are reconciled, the betrothal is renewed!” she cried rapturously. “I saw them exchange flowers--roses and sprays of myrtle. Oh, I was sure it would come right! I just slipped in to tell you. I could not wait.” “But how can you be certain?” asked Madame Stefanovics cautiously. “Certain! I shall ask her Majesty,” was the reply, as Fräulein von Staubach slipped back to her post. It was with the freedom of a privileged confidant that she attacked the Queen that evening. “Dearest madame, may we not be allowed to congratulate you? Is not something going to happen that will make us all very happy? You know that your happiness is ours.” “Is that so, Sophie? Then you must be very happy at this moment.” “Indeed I am, madame. May I make the rest happy too?”