From a despised monarch Leopold had risen in a
single bound to the position of a national idol.
Repeatedly he was called to the balcony over the grand entrance that
the people might feast their eyes on him. The princess wondered how
long it was before she herself would be forced to offer her
congratulations and, perchance, suffer his caresses. She shivered
and cringed at the thought, and then there came a knock upon the
door, and in answer to her permission it opened, and the king stood
upon the threshold alone.
At a glance the man took in the pain and sorrow mirrored upon the
girl's face. He stepped quickly across the room toward her.
"What is it?" he asked. "What is the matter?"
For a moment he had forgotten the part that he had been
playing--forgot that the Princess Emma was ignorant of his identity.
He had come to her to share with her the happiness of the hour--the
glory of the victorious arms of Lutha. For a time he had almost
forgotten that he was not the king, and now he was forgetting that
he was not Barney Custer to the girl who stood before him with
misery and hopelessness writ so large upon her countenance.
For a brief instant the girl did not reply. She was weighing the
problematical value of an attempt to enlist the king in the cause of
the American. Leopold had shown a spark of magnanimity when he had
written a pardon for Mr.
Pages:
298
299
300
301
302
303
304
305
306
307
308
309
310
311
312
313
314
315
316
317
318
319
320
321
322