And on the throne was seated—not the diminutive, misshapen king, but Desiree Le Mire!
She sat motionless, gazing directly at us. Her long gold hair streamed over her shoulders in magnificent waves; a stiffly flowing garment of some unknown texture covered her limbs and the lower part of her body; her shoulders and breasts and arms were bare, and shone with a dazzling whiteness.
Beside her was a smaller seat, also of gold, and on this crouched the form of an Inca—the king. About them, at a respectful distance, were ranged attendants and guards—a hundred or more, for the alcove was of an impressive size. The light from the four urns shone in upon it with such brightness that I could clearly distinguish the whites of Desiree's eyes.
All this I saw in a single flash, and I turned to Harry:
"Not a word, on your life! This is Desiree's game; trust her to play it."
"But what the deuce is she doing there?"
I shrugged my shoulders.
"She seems to have found another king. You know her fondness for royalty."
"Paul, for Heaven's sake—"
"All right, Hal. But we're safe enough, I think. Most probably our introduction to court. This is what they call 'the dizzy heights of prominence.' Now keep your eyes open—something is going to happen."