"You know," she said, "your guests are waiting."
She laughed. Then she came up to me slowly:
"Don Michael, do you really like me?"
"Yes."
"Then—will you do something for me?"
"Yes."
"It is this. In the presence of these tourists remember always that I am your servant and a Swiss peasant. Never by word or glance permit them to believe otherwise. Do you promise?"
"Yes."
She smiled, laid both her hands frankly in mine.
"I'm going to tell you something," she said. "Your guests below are the ex-king Constantine of Greece, his wife, the ex-queen; Ferdinand, King of Bulgaria—or Tzar of all the Bulgars—as he loves to call himself;—and their several assorted shadows."