"But what of that?" she asked in astonishment. "The other guests can
wait."
"Why should they wait?" I inquired, annoyed.
She shot an arrogant glance at me and started to say something but,
evidently recollecting her incognito as Madame Xenos, merely choked and
finally swallowed her wrath.
"Madame," said I soothingly, for I was really afraid of her, "I am
extremely sorry to inconvenience you, but the rules of the chalet must
be observed by everybody, otherwise confusion in the service is certain
to result----"
"I am not interested in your domestic problems," she said, and turned
over in bed.
"Madame," said I, "let me trouble you to remember that I am not an
innkeeper whom you can bully. I am the grandson of an Admiral!"
At that the Queen sat up and stared at me like a maverick.
"That's true," she said. "I had forgotten that distinction. I am sorry
if I spoke too severely. Nevertheless it's very annoying."
I said I regretted the necessity of making rules; she yawned and fiddled
with her corkscrew kinks, but nodded acknowledgment to my perfectly
correct bow. And so I left the Queen, yawning, stretching, and rubbing
her neck and ears with the sleepy satisfaction of an awakened cat.
The bell of King Constantino was still ringing at intervals. So I
continued along the corridor and knocked very lightly at his door.
Listening, I heard a shuffle of unshod feet within, a rustle, then
through the key-hole a persuasive voice thick with suppressed affection:
"Why so cruel, little one? Bring me my breakfast on a pretty
tray--there's a good little girl. And maybe there'll be a big, shiny
gold-piece for you if you're very amiable."
I hesitated, listening to his heavy, irregular breathing, then opened
the door.
The King looked intensely foolish for a moment, then seized me by the
shoulder, drew me into the room, and shut the door.
"We're a pack of sad dogs, we men!" he said jovially, smiting me
familiarly on the shoulder again. "We're all up to our little
tricks--every one of us, eh, O'Ryan? No--no! Don't pull a smug face
with me--a good looking young fellow like you! No, no! it won't do,
O'Ryan. We men ought to be frank with one another. And that's
me--bluff, rough, frank to a fault!--just a soldier, O'Ryan----"
"I thought you were a wine-merchant, Monsieur Xenos."
"Oh, certainly. But I've been a soldier. I'm more at home in barracks
than I am anywhere else." He chuckled, dug me in the ribs with his
thumb:
"Be a good sport, O'Ryan. You don't want both of them, do you? My God,
man, you're no Turk, I hope. Why can't that very young one--I mean the
yellow haired one--bring me my breakfast and----"
Probably my features were not under perfect control for the King stopped
short and took an instinctive step backward.
"Where do you think you are, Monsieur Xenos?" I asked, striving to keep
my voice steady. "Did you think you are in a cabaret, or a mastroquet
or a zenana?"
"Oh, come," he began, losing countenance, "you shouldn't take a bluff
old soldier too precisely----"
"You listen to _me_! Mind your damned business while you're under my
roof or I'll knock your silly head off!"
I looked him over deliberately, insultingly, from the tasseled toe of
his Algerian bed-room slippers to his purple pyjamas clasped with a
magnificent ruby at the throat.
"Behave yourself decently," said I slowly, "or I'll take you out to the
barnyard and rub your nose in it."
And I went out, leaving Tino stupefied in the center of his bedroom.
The Tzar's bell was ringing again, but I made no ceremony in his case,
merely jerking open his door and telling him curtly to come down to
breakfast if he wanted any. Then I closed his door to cut off argument
and continued on.