“Then I was mistaken. I thought it was some one I knew, and I wanted to play him a trick.” The King spoke with admirable nonchalance, but he was inwardly perturbed. He knew the story of the Pretender’s courtship of Félicia, and foresaw a repetition of it, and he blessed the obtuseness of his uncle, who was enjoying himself hugely as the butt of all the hardest bouquets, and claiming Félicia’s attention at every turn. She looked round in vain for some one to deliver her, while the Grand-Duke was giving her a long account of his daughter’s obstinate refusal to attend the festivities with her betrothed. The Grand-Duchess persisted she was ill; but he had been determined she should go, and would have carried his point if his wife had not called in a rascally, venal doctor to her aid. Félicia did not find Helene’s delinquencies at all amusing, but while she sought for help, she did not happen to glance in the direction of her former suitor. King Michael returned to his post in the nick of time, and remained at her side so gallantly for the rest of the afternoon that Malasorte had no chance of accosting her. Apparently accepting his defeat, the Prince dropped behind the carriage, but when King Michael saw him next, he was picking up a spray of white lilac Maimie had dropped, and slipping something with it into her hand. The King nursed his wrath in silence until the return to the Villa, when he stopped Maimie as she was following Félicia upstairs. “May I trouble you for the note Prince Malasorte gave you for the Princess Félicia, mademoiselle?” Maimie stared at him in astonishment. She had not at all decided whether to give Félicia the letter which Malasorte, relying on her old friendliness, had entrusted to her, or not, but now she had to come to a decision at once. What was the exact meaning of Malasorte’s presence here, where he was at any moment liable to be arrested and conducted to the frontier? Was he on his way to make himself emperor, or was it only that he had learnt Félicia’s true descent, and desired the support her family and fortune could give him in his campaign? There were many things it would be well to know before determining the fate of the letter, but here stood King Michael opposite her, holding out his hand for it. “I guess I won’t jump at the shadow and lose the substance,” she said to herself, and gave it to him. Somewhat to her surprise he opened it immediately. “I am not like that poor fool Usk, to be deceived and hoodwinked, mademoiselle,” he replied to her amazed look. “I protect myself, and it appears it is necessary. Do you not think so?” He read from the note: “‘Meet me at eight to-morrow morning in the garden of the Villa Bougainvillea. I must speak to you. I have more to lay at your feet than I had once.--M.’ Has he any ground for believing she would be willing to meet him?” he demanded, looking Maimie sternly in the face.