"As your Majesty wishes."
"The Queen has written to say that she is getting bored, and wants me home again. That being the case we had better make the most of our few remaining days, you understand?"
"Not very well."
"Why, this afternoon we must look up some pretty girls and, as my cousin the King of England says, 'Honi soit qui mal y pense.' Evil to him who evil thinks. And now, au revoir, my dear Wulf; by and by I'll invite you to crack a bottle with me."
The punctilious Wulf made the three bows demanded by etiquette, turned on his heel, and left the room.
Fandor sprang out of bed and began to dress.
"After all, it's not altogether a joke," he muttered. "I had to listen to that idiot Wulf jawing away all yesterday evening ... and if I remember right, he said something about being suspicious of that little Marie Pascal. I'll have to stop him making more blunders. He's quite capable of having her arrested. Anyway, Wulf is to do nothing till the return of Juve, and that will give me time to take my precautions."
Fandor and Wulf had just finished a very excellent dinner, which Fandor paid for out of his own pocket. He was careful not to take any of the royal funds for his personal use. Wulf hovered on the borderland of drunkenness, but his ideas still showed some coherence. For the twentieth time he asked Fandor the same question:
"But, Sire, why the deuce are you wearing a false moustache and whiskers to-day?"