The group stood silent and attentive in a strained tableau, except for Von Ritz, who paced back and forth just beyond the fountain, as though respectfully repudiating the whole unseemly episode.

“Then I fell in love with you,” went on the King of Galavia.  “You married me—­because State reasons demanded it.  I could not win your love—­he did!” He turned toward Benton, and his voice, though it held its slow control, was bitter.

“Benton, do you fancy this puny game amuses me?  Do I not know that you could buy a principality like this for a souvenir of Europe if it happened to please you?  The one time I have been allowed to feel a man was in your country, where we met as equal rivals....  No, not equal even then, because you were the winner, I the loser.”

“Karyl,” the Queen spoke in a low voice, “I can give you loyalty, admiration, respect and my life to use as you see fit to use it.  I give as freely as I can.  My love I do not refuse—­it is just ... just that it is not mine to give.”  She spoke with unutterable weariness.  “I seem to bring only sorrow to those who love me.”

“You can give me all but love,” Karyl repeated very softly, leaning forward toward her, “and love is all there is!  Without it I take all else you give me as a thief takes, without right.  If being a King means being your jailer, then I am done with being a King!”

“Your Majesty,” cut in Von Ritz sharply, “it is time to terminate this talk.  It has no end.  It is aimless argument which comes only back to the starting point.”

The King wheeled and met the eyes of his adviser.  The studied self-control he had maintained since Cara’s arrival slipped from him and his voice broke out explosively.

“It has an end!” he cried.  “I will show you the end.  If I cannot build empire I can do something else, I can throw this damnable little Kingdom down into the chaos it deserves!...  I can abdicate to my cousin, Louis Delgado, who wants the throne I don’t want!...  I can stamp on this tinseled trumpery....  I can break jail!” He turned with an impassioned out-sweeping of his hands.  Coming swiftly from behind the bench, he halted tensely before Benton and leaned defiantly forward.  “Then I can free her—­and by God I shall fight you for her on equal terms, inch by inch, not holding her in duress, but fighting for her free consent.  She has been trapped by Fate into marrying me and at heart she rebels.  I shall set her free and then by God I will win her back!”

Von Ritz had stood by as the King rushed on in climax after climax of heated words.  Now he took one swift stride forward.  From his quiet face had fallen every trace of impassiveness.  When he spoke his voice trembled with the irresistible eloquence of power and fire.

“My God, boy!” He seized Karyl by his shoulders and wheeled him so that they stood face to face.  There was in his manner nothing of deference, nothing of the subordinate.  Now he stood transformed, the man of action; the dominant, compelling force before whom littler men must wither.  This was no longer Von Ritz the emotionless.  It was Von Ritz the King-maker, burning with vitalizing passion.