I reached up and took her hand—­then, arose and stood beside her.

“You see, Your Majesty,” said she, with calm finality, “I know the true facts.”

For a space, Frederick’s face remained absolutely expressionless; then, it slowly softened.

“It seems to me there are a few facts which I, too, might, possibly, be permitted to know,” he said.

I breathed a sigh of relief.

“It was to tell Your Majesty those very facts that I sought an audience, this evening,” I said.

Just then a clock began to chime slowly the hour.  The king waited until the last stroke—­the seventh—­had sounded, then, he nodded.

“I am listening, Marshal,” he said briskly.

It might be that, after one has asked twelve or thirteen fathers for a daughter, in marriage, he has got sufficiently hardened to confront the fourteenth with, at least, a show of indifference; but, as this was my first father, I admit I was a trifle uneasy along the spine; and, somehow, my voice seemed to get lost in my throat, and the words were very reluctant in coming.  I suppose Frederick saw my embarrassment for he smiled broadly.

“Come, Armand,” he said; “pull up that chair.  I suppose we may not smoke here,” he added; “though I think I detect the faint suggestion of a miserable cigarette,” and he looked at the Princess.

Dehra took a tiny jeweled case from somewhere about her gown and offered it to the King.

“Will Your Majesty try a Nestor?” she said.

Frederick shook his head in repugnance.

“His Majesty, most certainly, will not,” he said.

“But His Majesty’s daughter will—­with his permission.”

Frederick laughed.  “Or, without it, if need be,” he said.  “She is a very headstrong young woman, Armand,” he observed to me.

“So His Highness has already done himself the honor to tell me,” said she airily.

“Good!” said the King.  “I admire his pluck.”

Dehra blew a cloud of smoke at me.

“So do I,” she answered.

Then she went over and kissed the King.

“Be nice to Armand,” she whispered (but loud enough, for me to hear) and left the room, flinging me a farewell from her finger tips, as I held back the portiere.

And Frederick continued to smile, and my courage grew proportionately.  I came straight to the point.

“May it please you, Sire,” I said, “I have the honor to pray the hand of the Princess Royal in marriage.”

The King’s smile faded; and his eyes travelled slowly from my head to my feet and back again to my head, for all the world as though I were on inspection-parade.

I knew what was in his mind and my courage evaporated instantly.  I began to feel like a soldier caught with uniform awry and equipment tarnished.

“Do you give me your word, sir, that you are free to marry her?” he demanded, suddenly.