But, quick though she was, the King was quicker.  He jerked his head aside.  The vase missed him by the fraction of an inch and crashed to bits against the opposite wall.

Frederick turned and looked at the fragments, and at the cut in the hangings.

“Madame is rather muscular,” he observed, dryly.

“And Your Majesty is a clever dodger,” she said, with sneering indifference—­then leaned back against the table, a hand on either side of her.

“Is it possible you are not going?” she asked.

The King smiled.  “Presently, my dear madame, presently.  Meanwhile, I pray you, have consideration for the ornaments and the wall.”

She shrugged her shoulders.

“As I cannot expect the servants to forcibly eject their King, and as the Duke of Lotzen dare not, I presume I’ll have to submit to your impertinent intrusion.  Pray, let me know your business here—­I assume it is business—­and get it ended quickly.  I will expedite it all I may.  Anything, to be rid of you and that popinjay in red beside you.”

“Your husband, madame,” the King observed.

“Aye, my husband, for a time,” she answered.

“Aye, Mrs. Spencer, your husband for a time—­for a purpose—­and for a consideration.”

She opened her eyes wide.

“Indeed!” she laughed.  “I thought the acting was over, Sire.”

Frederick’s manner changed.

“It is,” he said sharply.  “We will come to the point.  Have you ink and pen?”

“Is that what you came for?” she sneered.  “Have you none at the Palace?”

“Quite enough to sign an order within an hour for your incarceration if you continue obdurate,” he answered.

“A kingly threat, truly,” she mocked.  “And, what if I be not obdurate?”

“Then it will be an order permitting you to leave Valeria at once.”

“Now, Your Majesty interests me,” she said.  “I have been waiting for that a month and more.  What is the price for this order?”

“Simply the truth, madame,” said the King.

“Sometimes, the truth is the highest price one can pay,” she answered.

“It will be very easy here,” he said.  “You have a paper purporting to be a certificate of marriage between you and Armand Dalberg.”

She inclined her head.

“On it you will endorse that it is a false certificate; that you are not and never were his wife; that it was procured for you, in New York, long subsequent to its apparent date; and that you were paid an enormous sum of money—­fill in the actual amount, please—­to go immediately to Dornlitz, exhibit the certificate, there, and publicly claim the Grand Duke Armand as your husband.  That, madame, is all.”

I was observing Lotzen; and, even now, his nerve never failed him.  He watched the King, intently, as he spoke.  At the end, his face took on a smile of cynical indifference—­and, dropping from the respectful position in which he had been standing, he turned and sat on the table, one leg swinging carelessly over the corner.