“It’s all a question of national taste,” said I; “and you know, sire, ’de gustibus non’——­”

He drummed with his fingers a moment on the table.

“I have some unhandy views, possibly,” said I.

“Oh, you will soon outgrow them,” he returned; “only, it may be a trifle awkward if you parade them.”

“But, maybe, I shall not care to outgrow them.”  I objected.  “And, then, there is another notion—­American, too, doubtless—­which I fear will be a final bar.”

“Nonsense, Armand,” said the King, a bit sharply.  “What other objection can even an American raise?”

“This, sire,” said I:  “When Hugo left Dornlitz his estates were forfeited, his titles were revoked and his name was stricken from the family roll.  How can he now, after a century and a quarter, be rehabilitated?”

“The King, as Head of our House, has full power.”

“Yes, I know; his power in the family is limitless, save that he may not change the succession to the Crown in favor of a female—­more’s the pity.  But, while Your Majesty may make me a Duke, or even a Prince, yet that will not give back to Hugo the rights he was deprived of by his arbitrary father.”

The King smiled indulgently.  “For an American you have a large fund of sentiment.”

“That is the Dalberg in me, doubtless,” I replied.

“Then, sir.  I understand that—­because your great-grandfather didn’t live for one hundred and forty years and so be able now to receive, in the flesh, the edict of restoration—­you, his eldest male heir, refuse to accept your rights; the rights that come to you through him?”

“No, that’s not exactly it; it’s this:  For Your Majesty, now, to restore me to the Family Roll, can be done only upon the hypothesis that all of Hugo’s descendants have been debruised by the bar sinister—­the very act of restoration presupposes such disqualification.”

“You forget I said you were legitimate,” said the King.

“By your grace; not by old Henry’s,” I objected.

“But, recall that Hugo himself was offered his titles and rights by his brother and that he declined them.”

“Yes; that is just the point,” said I:  “he declined them.”

Frederick took a fresh cigar and lit it carefully, blowing the smoke in tiny rings to the ceiling.

“I think I understand now,” he said.  “You will decline our offer because it necessitates the restoration now, of Hugo’s descendants, to the Family Roll?”

I bowed in silence.

“It’s a great pity,” he said, sadly.  “Otherwise, if Hugo had, in effect, never been disinherited and if the legitimacy of his descendants had been specifically preserved by Royal Decree, you would accept our offer?”

“Yes,” said I—­“or, at least, I would give it serious consideration,” I added with a laugh.

The King turned slowly and, for a space, kept his eyes fixed steadily on my face, as though searching there for an answer to something about which his mind was undecided.  Have you ever had a monarch or one high in authority look at you so?  If you have, you are likely to remember it many days.