"Majesty! What the devil—am I crazy? I am not drunk," he added regretfully.
"Sire," stammered Colonel Sutphen, "sire, you are the King of Krovitch."
"The devil I am," came the prompt response. Nevertheless the artist threw an affectionate glance at the painting as one might in saying, "You were my people." The piquancy of the situation caused him to smile. "Gentlemen," he said, "if this is some hoax, believe me it is in very poor taste. Taste? Yes, for I haven't eaten in two days. What's your game? I've just come from a pawnbroker's, where I had gone with the paltry jewels of a model, to try and secure enough to pay my rent. You offer me a crown. Corduroys and blouse," he pointed to his garb, "you tempt me with visions of ermine. A throne to replace my stool, and pages of history are given for my future canvases. I am starving, gentlemen," he said half turning away suffused in his own self-pity, "do not trifle with me." He appealed to Josef. "Is this true—what they say, Josef-Petros, or whatever your name is?"
"It is true, Your Majesty."
"A King! A King!" exclaimed the astonished artist. "But still a King without a kingdom—a table without meat. A mockery of greatness after all. Why do you come to tell me this?" he cried turning fiercely on them. "Was I too contented as I was? It is not good to taunt a hungry man. To tell me that I am a crownless King without six feet of land to call my realm, is but to mock me."
"The remedy is at hand, Your Majesty," Sutphen asserted confidently. "Eighty thousand men await your coming, all trained soldiers. We will raise the battle cry of Krovitch and at Schallberg crown you and your Queen."
"My Queen," almost shouted the astonished Delmotte, "have I a Queen, too? Are you all crazy, or am I? Pray heaven the Queen is none other than Marie, else I'll have no supper to-night. Who is my queen?" He asked as he saw the expression of disapproval which appeared on more than one face present.
"The noblest woman under heaven, sire," said Sutphen reverently. "One who well could have claimed the crown herself. She wished a man to lead her people in the bitter strife and waived her claims for you. It is therefore but meet that she who has wrought all this for you should share your throne."
"Why was I chosen?"
"You are descended from Stovik—she from Augustus, the last King of Krovitch, Stovik's rival." So step by step they disclosed their plans, their hopes and ambitions to the dazzled Parisian. Finally, his mind was surfeited with the tale of this country which was claiming him; he turned and, with sweeping gesture, indicated those present.