He talked well, selecting, discarding, weighing his words with the
fastidious precision of a jeweler setting precious stones. Subtly the
talk drifted to Houdania.
There was a mad king--Rodobald--upon the throne. Doubtless the Baron's
hostess had heard? No? Ah! So must the baffling twist of a man's
brain complicate the destiny of a kingdom. And Rodobald was hale at
sixty-five and mad as the hare of March. There had been much talk of
it. Singular, was it not?
Followed a sparkling anecdote or so of court life and shrugging
reference to the jealous principality of Galituria that lay beyond in
the valley. To Galiturians the madness of King Rodobald was an
exquisite jest.
Philip grew restless.
"Confound him!" he mused resentfully. "One would think I had
deliberately contrived to linger here merely to give him a graceful
opportunity to accomplish his infernal errand himself. Thank Heaven
this lets me out!" He glanced furtively at Diane. The girl's interest
was wholesomely without constraint.
"Great guns!" decided Philip fretfully. "I doubt if she's ever heard
of his toy kingdom before and yet he's probing her interest with every
atom of skill he can command." Puzzled and annoyed he fell quiet.
"It is somewhat inaccessible--my country," Tregar was saying smoothly.
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