“Eh? Who will?”
“Our beloved Alejandro. He wishes to see his faithful servant. We are to go to him at once.”
“Where?”
“At his own house. He will receive you in person.”
Such was the quality of the emotions through which he had been passing of late, that Roland felt but a faint interest at the prospect of meeting face to face a genuine—if exiled—monarch. The thought did flit through his mind that they would sit up a bit in old Fineberg's office if they could hear of it, but it brought him little consolation.
The cab drew up at a gloomy-looking house in a fashionable square. Roland rang the door-bell. There seemed a certain element of the prosaic in the action. He wondered what he should say to the butler.
There was, however, no need for words. The door opened, and they were ushered in without parley. A butler and two footmen showed them into a luxuriously furnished anteroom. Roland entered with two thoughts running in his mind. The first was that the beloved Alejandro had got an uncommonly snug crib; the second that this was exactly like going to see the dentist.
Presently the squad of retainers returned, the butler leading.
“His Majesty will receive Mr. Bleke.”
Roland followed him with tottering knees.