“Alas, no!” cried the Chevalier, raising his hands deprecatingly--“not his frient, his enemy. It is my embition, my esspirations, det hef led to all dis! De Queen says it; she will not receife me. I may not help efen to search for him, but I remain here, in case I may yet be permitted to do somethink.” “But you didn’t help to lead him into danger?” asked Helene anxiously. “I kennot tell. De Queen says it. It seems he hed receifed warninks; I wass not told. Rader would I hef postponed efen de triumph off my nation den risk his life, his freedom.” “Then where is the Queen?” asked Usk. “She is spendink de day at Klotsch, and your fader also. So it iss efery day. Dey go dere to exemine all de neighbourhood demselfs, and come beck at night to receife de reports off deir achents. But her Machesty will not see me, nor allow me to take any part in de search.” “We will speak to her, and ask her to let you help,” said Helene. “It must be so sad for you not to be allowed to do anything.” The Chevalier pursued her with his fervent thanks as Usk supported her into the hotel, but the task she had undertaken proved more difficult than she expected. When Queen Ernestine returned, she refused to have anything to do with the Chevalier Goldberg. He had sacrificed her husband to his plots, she declared, with a violence of unreason which reminded Lord Caerleon of those early days when she had done her best to make Cyril’s life a burden to him. The stately gentleness which had characterised her of late years seemed to have disappeared, and she was simply a woman fighting wildly for her husband’s life. The fearful anxiety of the last few days had driven her almost mad, as she joined feverishly in the searches made in the district round Klotsch, or sat waiting for messages, not knowing whether to look forward to their arrival with fear or with hope. But so far no news whatever had been received. “It’s quite natural she should feel prejudiced against the Chevalier,” said Lord Caerleon to his son, as they walked up and down the terrace, while Helene sat with the Queen, and tried in vain to cheer her, “but it’s very unfortunate. These Jews have a natural instinct for ferreting out mysteries, and Goldberg can set in motion a whole army of helpers all over Europe. But I can’t urge her against her will. I wish your mother was here.” “What is the mater doing, by the way?” asked Usk. “We quite thought we should find her here.” “Pauline Vassilievna is dying. We were just starting for Geneva to be with her, when your aunt’s telegram came, so your mother went alone to Switzerland, and I came on here.” “And King Michael--what about him? What an ungrateful beast he must be!” “Oh, he is away on his honeymoon, in the Bluebird, and your aunt wouldn’t allow him to be told. He was only to be troubled with absolutely necessary State business, and she doesn’t particularly want him here. He could do no good.”