It happened that there was a luncheon-party at the Palace at Bellaviste, to which the Premier, who had but just received the message from Neustria, came late, bringing the telegram with him. He said nothing until the meal was over, but then asked for an immediate audience of the King. Displeased by the breaking-up of her party, and no more disposed than she had been as Miss Steinherz to accept meekly anything that interfered with her wishes, Queen Félicia sent her equerry to ask her husband and Prince Mirkovics what the news was. The King, who had learnt by experience that his bride was quite capable of pursuing him and assisting at the interview unless her request was complied with, sent her a copy of the telegram, which she read as she moved about among her guests. “Logan, come right here. I want you this instant!” were the words that startled the room, and made Baroness Radnika, who had accompanied the new Queen as her mistress of the household, look round in distress. She had thought Félicia cured of her Americanisms, but at the first moment of excitement the old habits revived. A covert glance of amusement passed between the ladies of the British and United States legations, and the Baroness threw herself bravely into the breach by trying to start a fresh subject of conversation as Maimie responded to Félicia’s summons. “Read that, now. I might have been an empress to-day,” said the Queen, putting the telegram into her friend’s hand. “Well, I guess it isn’t my fault you are not,” was the swift answer, given in an undertone, for Félicia’s words had been distinctly audible. “That is so. And we can’t alter things now, any way.” “No; you’ll just have to make the best of them.”