window, and closed the shutter.

It needed only the recollection of stories which were the
property of all Europe to reach a conclusion on the gentleman's
illness. The legitimate King of England was very drunk.

As I went to my room that night I passed the Count's door. There
stood Oliphant as sentry, more grim and haggard than ever, and I
thought that his eye met mine with a certain intelligence. From
inside the room came a great racket. There was the sound of
glasses falling, then a string of oaths, English, French, and for
all I know, Irish, rapped out in a loud drunken voice. A pause,
and then came the sound of maudlin singing. It pursued me along
the gallery, an old childish song, delivered as if 'twere a
pot-house catch-

"Qu'est-ce qui passe ici si tard,
Compagnons de la Marjolaine---"

One of the late-going company of the Marjolaine hastened to bed.
This king in exile, with his melancholy daughter, was becoming
too much for him.


III

It was just before noon next day that the travellers arrived. I
was sitting in the shady loggia of the inn, reading a volume of
De Thou, when there drove up to the door two coaches. Out of the
first descended very slowly and stiffly four gentlemen; out of