“Good,” said I; “drive ahead; and make it as plain as you like.”

“I’ll do it,” he said.  “What I want to know is:  First—­do you intend to try to displace me in the Line of Succession?  And, second—­are you a suitor for the hand of the Princess Royal?”

It would have been impossible to hide my surprise, so I made no effort.  Surely, this man’s methods were almost beyond comprehension!

“My dear Duke,” I replied, “your questions are plain, and a plain answer will do for both—­it is none of your business.”

He laughed.  “By which I infer you decline to answer.”

“Precisely!”

He tossed away his cigar and slowly lit another.

“Of course, Armand, that is your privilege; but, then, you must pardon the further inference that to decline to answer is, really, to answer in the affirmative.”

“You are responsible for your inferences, not I,” I replied curtly.

He leaned a bit forward.  “Let us take up my first question,” he said.  “Have you ever considered what you were likely to encounter if you undertook to filch the Crown?”

“Filch?” I interrupted.

“Steal, then, if you prefer.  I forgot we were to use plain terms.”

“Very true,” said I.  “Proceed.”

“Do you think that I, who have been the Heir Presumptive since the instant of my birth, almost, will calmly step aside and permit you to take my place?”

I looked at him, indifferently, and made no answer.

“Do you fancy, for an instant,” he went on, “that the people of Valeria would have a foreigner for King?”

I shrugged my shoulders.

“And even if old Frederick were to become so infatuated with you that he would restore you to Hugo’s place in the Line of Succession, do you imagine, that the House of Nobles would hesitate to annul it the instant he died?”

From the written words, one might well infer that he spoke loudly and in open anger; whereas, in fact, his face was smiling and his voice was even more soft than usual.  It behooved me to meet him in kind.

“As you seem to have been doing my thinking, cousin, perhaps you have also thought out my answers.  If you have, I shall be glad to hear them; it will save me the labor of thinking them out for myself.”

His smile broadened.  “The only labor I can promise to save you, cousin, is that of being King.”

“I fear it is a bit early for me to choose my Prime Minister,” I said.

His smile became a laugh.  “Let us pass to my second question.  It, however, demands no thinking.  There is ample evidence of your intention as to the Princess.”

“Then, why ask it?” I inquired.

“Because, of her intention toward you, I am not so sure—­but, women are queer creatures and prone to take queer crotchets.  You aim to marry her; and so, having won the King and stolen my birth-right, to use her popularity to secure you on the Throne.  You see, all roads lead to the Throne.”