"The King and the Princess have gone out," said the voice of one of my detectives. "It's impossible to find them."
Greatly alarmed, I was hurrying to the Villa Mouriscot, when, at a bend in the road, I saw the fugitives themselves before me, accompanied by the Princess Beatrice.
"I say!" cried the King, in great glee. "We gave your inspector the slip!"
And, as I was venturing to utter a discreet reproach:
"Don't be angry with us, M. Paoli," the princess broke in, very prettily. "The King isn't frightened; no more am I. Who would think of hurting us?"
The great delight of Alfonso, who is very playfully inclined, was to hoax people that did not know who he was. One day, motoring into Cambo, the delicious village near which M. Edmond Rostand's property lies, he entered the post-office to send off some postcards. Seeing the woman in charge of the office taking the air outside the door:
"I beg your pardon, madame," he said, very politely. "Could you tell me if the King of Spain is expected here to-day?"
"I don't know anything about it," said the little post-mistress in an off-hand way.
"Don't you know him by sight?"
"No."