“But how shall I see her at Bellaviste?” asked Caerleon. “Are you going on there?”
“Have you forgotten,” asked Madame O’Malachy, rather reproachfully, “that it has always been our intention to accompany Louis when he goes to try and obtain a post in the Thracian army? Shall we be less likely to visit Thracia now that we have a friend upon the throne?”
“But why not come on with us now?” asked Caerleon. “May I not have the pleasure of receiving you as my guests? I don’t know the capacity of the palace at Bellaviste; but it must certainly be large enough to accommodate your party, if you don’t mind roughing it for a time in a bachelor’s household.”
“A thousand thanks,” said Madame O’Malachy, with her sweetest smile, “but I am afraid we must decline your hospitable proposition. However, we will certainly continue our journey into your kingdom, and no doubt there will be a hotel at Bellaviste which can take us in. Rely upon me as your friend. I am not an enthusiast, I do not pretend to have no regard for the splendours of a throne, but I wish you well, and what help I can give you with this daughter of mine I will.”
And with this assurance of support Caerleon was obliged to be content.
CHAPTER VI.
A ROYAL PROGRESS.
“Where is the King?” asked M. Drakovics, coming into the coffee-room hastily about an hour later, and finding only Cyril, who was engaged in performing some complicated operation with a bradawl and the strap of a knapsack.
“His Majesty,” returned Cyril, in the choicest ‘Court Circular’ style, “is walking out this morning, and at this moment is probably conversing in a friendly spirit with some of his faithful subjects, through the medium of Mr Louis O’Malachy.”
“These O’Malachys again!” cried M. Drakovics. “This must be stopped!”
He turned angrily to leave the room, but Cyril was at the door before him.