“Oh, Mauravania!” he said.  “An Englishman’s heritage!  Dear country, how beautiful!  My love to your Queen—­my prayers for you.”

“Monsieur!” exclaimed the Count, “monsieur, what juggle is this?  Your face is again the face of that other night—­the face that stirs memory yet does not rivet it.  Monsieur, speak, I beg of you.  What are you?  Who are you?”

“Cleek,” he made answer.  “Just Cleek!  It will do.  Oh, Mauravania, dear land of desolated hopes, dear grave of murdered joys!”

“Monsieur!”

“Hush!  Let me alone.  There are things too sacred; and this—­” His hands reached outward as if in benediction; his face, upturned, was as a face transfigured, and something that shone as silver gleamed in the corner of his eye.  “Mauravania!” he said.  “Oh, Mauravania!  My country—­my people—­good-bye!”

“Monsieur!  Dear Heaven—­Majesty!”

Then came a rustling sound, and when Cleek had mastered himself and looked down, a figure with head uncovered knelt on one knee at his feet.

“Get up, Count,” he said, with a little shaky laugh.  “I appreciate the honour, but—­your fancy is playing you a trick.  I tell you I never set foot in Mauravania before, my friend.”

“I know—­I know.  How should you.  Majesty, when it was as a child at Queen Karma’s breast Mauravania last saw—­Don’t leave like this!  Majesty!  Majesty!  ’God guard the right’—­the pearl and the kingdom are here.”

“Wrong, my good friend.  The kingdom is there—­where you found me—­in England; and so, too, is the pearl.  For there is no kingdom like the kingdom of love, no pearl like a good woman.  Good night, Count, and many thanks for your hospitality.  You are a little upset to-night, but no doubt you will be all right again in the morning.  I will walk to the station and—­alone, if it is all the same to you.”

“Majesty!”

“Dreams, Count, dreams.  The riddle is solved, my friend.  Good luck to your country and—­good-bye!”

And, setting his back to the palace and the lights and the fluttering flag, and his face to the land that held her, turned and went his way—­to the West—­to England—­and to those things which are higher than crowns and better than sceptres and more precious than thrones and ermine.

THE END