He touched the burning match to the grouped tips of sulphur and his teeth gleamed white as he contemplated the little spurt of hissing flame.  Then he dropped his flattened hand upon the tiny eruption and extinguished it, as his sudden grin died away to a bored smile.

[Illustration:  HIS TEETH GLEAMED WHITE AS HE CONTEMPLATED THE LITTLE SPURT OF HISSING FLAME.]

“There, it is over,” he yawned, “and of course it may not happen. Quien sabe?”

“And if they should flare up—­” Benton spoke slowly, carefully, “others might suffer than the King?”

“How should one say?  The King alone would suffice, but Kings are rarely found in solitude,” reasoned the Andalusian.  “For a brief moment Europe looks with eyes of interest on the feasting little capital.  The King will not be alone.  No, it must be—­so one would surmise—­at the coronation.”

“Good God!” Benton gaspingly breathed the exclamation.  “But, man, think of it—­the women—­the children—­the utterly innocent people—­the Queen!”

The Spaniard leaned back, balancing his chair on two legs, his hands spread on the table. “Si, Senor, it is regrettable.  Yet nothing on earth appears so easy to supply as Kings—­except Queens.  And after all, what is it to us—­an American millionaire—­a Cadiz toreador?”

For a moment Benton was silent.  When he spoke it was in quick, clear-clipped interrogation.

“You know Puntal and Galavia?”

“As I know Spain.”

“Manuel, suppose the quaking of a throne does interest me, you will go there with me—­even though I may lead you where its fall may crush us both?”

The Spaniard grinned with a dazzling show of white teeth.  His shoulders rose and fell in a shrug.  “As well a tumbling castle wall as a charging bull.”

“Good.  The first thing is to learn all we can of Louis and his party.”

“There is,” observed Blanco calmly, “a table on this side also shielded by plants.  From its angle we can observe,—­and be ourselves protected from their view.  However, we will first go for a stroll in the calle and return.  The change of position will then be less noticeable.  Also, the Senor’s forehead is beaded with moisture.  The air of the street will be grateful.”

As Benton rose he noticed that the Grand Duke was leaning confidentially toward the member of the French Cabinet Noir.

Fifteen minutes later the two men were ensconced in their more sheltered coign, with wine glasses before them, and all the seeming of idle hours to kill.

“Is Louis ostensibly a friend of the throne?” demanded the American.

“Professedly, he is, Senor.  He will write his felicitations when the marriage and the crowning occur—­he will even send suitable gifts, but he will remain at his cafe here with his absinthe, or in Paris near the fair Comptessa Astaride, whom he adores, unless, of course, he goes to touch the match.”