"She insists."
"But you tell me she's in bed, Clelia. How can I go up?"
Clelia shrugged her pretty shoulders! "Queens don't care. A landlord of an inn has no masculine meaning to a queen."
"Is that so!" I said. "Very well"—I finished my coffee at a gulp—"I'll go and see Madame Hohenzollern."
"You'd better be careful," said Clelia, smiling. "She really is a vixen."
I recollected the story of Constantine, and that it was commonly believed she had once stuck a knife into Tino when annoyed about something or other.
But I rose from the table determined to settle her status in my house once for all.
"And, Clelia," I said, "I've heard other bells tinkling. Those kings upstairs are no good, and I wouldn't put it past either of them to demand that you serve them breakfast in their rooms."
"They have demanded it."
Smith turned an angry red and made as though to rise, but sat down again.