There he remained huddled in apparent torpor and for some moments unobserved, until the Duke signaled to a passing waiter and indicated the toreador with a glance.  The waiter came over to Blanco.  “The Senor will find another table,” he said with the ingratiating courtesy of one paying a compliment.  “It is regrettable, but this one is reserved.”  Blanco appeared too stupid to understand, and when finally he did grasp the meaning he rose with profuse and clumsy apologies and staggered vacantly about in the immediate neighborhood of the conspiring coterie.  Finally, after receiving further attention and guidance from the waiter, he returned to Benton, and dropping into his chair leaned over, his white teeth flashing a satisfied smile.  “The matches may not flare, Senor,” he said, “but it would appear it was planned.  Now Martin and Borttorff cannot go to Puntal.  Since the brief visit of Von Ritz they are branded men.  The others are already known to Karyl’s government.”

Benton sat with his brows knitted intently listening.

“Now,” went on Blanco, “there is one thing more.  They await the man for whom they hold the empty chair.”

There was a brief silence, then the Spaniard uttered a low exclamation of satisfaction.  Benton glanced up to see a young man of frank face, blond mustache and Paris clothes drop into the vacant place with evident apologies for his tardiness.

“Ah,” breathed Blanco again, “I feared it would be someone I did not know.  He is the Teniente Lapas, of Karyl’s Palace guard.  The pobrecito!  I wonder what post he hopes to adorn at the Court of the Pretender.”

For a moment the Spaniard looked on with an expression of melancholy reflection.  “That boy,” he said “at last, has the trust and friendship of the King.  Before him lies every prospect of advancement, yet he has been beguiled by the Countess Astaride, and throws himself into a plot against Karyl.  It is pitiable when one is perfidious so young—­and with such small cause.”

“Who is the Countess Astaride?” inquired the American.

“One of the most beautiful women in Europe, to whom these children are playthings.  For her there is only Louis Delgado.  It is her firing of his dreams which makes him aspire to a throne.  It is she who has the determination.  He can see visions of power only in the colors of his absinthe glass.  She uses men to her ends.  Lapas is the latest—­unless—­” Blanco paused—­“unless he is playing two parts, and really serves Karyl.  Come, Senor, there is nothing further to interest us here.”

CHAPTER XI

THE PASSING PRINCESS AND THE MISTAKEN COUNTESS

With the sapphire bay of Puntal at his back, his knees clasped between interlacing fingers, Benton sat on the stone sea-wall and affected to whistle up a lightness of heart.  Near at hand sprawled a picturesque city, its houses tinted in pea-greens, pinks and soft blues, or as white and decorative as though fashioned in icing on a cake.