After dinner it was decided that the mildness of the season justified the seeming rashness, and the Queen led her guests out into the marble-paved courtyard. There was a good deal of happy talk about the future as they sat under the carved arcades of curious inlaid work, and watched the fountains springing up among the orange- and lemon-trees. The rest remembered afterwards that Cyril refused, with some impatience, to discuss the probability of his obtaining the governorship of Palestine. It was in the hands of the Powers, he said, and the less it was talked about the better were his chances. He changed the subject almost irritably, but there was no other cloud upon the brightness of the evening. Even Mansfield was happy, although he was not included in the party. He had been dining with the household, and now, as he stood leaning against the pillars at the other end of the courtyard, smoking with M. Stefanovics, he could feast his eyes upon what seemed to him the most beautiful sight in the world. The blue and silver wrap which Philippa had thrown about her had fallen back, and the moonbeams lighted up her crown of golden curls. Not even the fact of his exclusion from the Queen’s table could sadden Mansfield, for Philippa had been disappointed about it, Philippa had said it was a shame, Philippa had refused to see reason in the matter until she had appealed in vain to her uncle himself. But while at one end of the courtyard Philippa, sitting beside the Queen, painted glowing pictures of the future, and Mansfield, at the other, watched her and dreamt delicious dreams, a loud shouting became audible. The sound came from the street, which was separated from the inner court by an outer one, occupied by the Queen’s suite and the servants. Some one was demanding admittance, and with no uncertain voice. The group under the arcade turned and looked at one another, as the porter was heard inquiring who the late arrival might be, and Cyril felt himself growing pale. Was there at hand the announcement of a new crisis, with which he must again confess his incapacity to deal? It was not, however, Paschics or the Chevalier, but General Banics, who appeared at the entrance of the passage leading to the door, and taking three strides across the courtyard, announced-- “Madame, his Majesty!” “How dare you, Banics? I forbade you to announce me!” cried a voice, and King Michael, casting a scathing glance at his former tutor, stepped out into the moonlight after him. “I hope, madame, there is a welcome for me in this delightful gathering?” The Queen had grasped Cyril’s arm involuntarily as her son entered. Now she loosed her clutch, but her fingers closed round his as she stepped forward. “Any reconciliation with me must include him,” was the announcement conveyed by her attitude, and King Michael read it aright.