Lubomirska--that is clear," added Taparel.

"And then it is difficult to digest those Swedes," whispered Wackerbarth. "I do not wonder at him."

"Eh! Eh! We have forgotten all about the Swedes; some one else will defeat them for us, we can be sure of that, and then we will go and gather the fruits," said Fürstenberg. "He is not bothered about the Swedes, but he has had enough of Lubomirska--we must find him some other woman."

"Is that such a difficult matter?" whispered Wackerbarth.

Then they began to whisper together, but so low that they could not be overheard, for, as though suddenly awakened from slumber, the King was looking round on his companions. His glance wandered from one to another, until it rested at length on the tragic pose of Baron Kyan, and on seeing this the monarch burst into a hearty laugh.

This was quite sufficient to make every one else laugh.

"Kyan," cried the King, "what is the matter with you? Has your sweetheart betrayed you? Have you no money? You look just like Prometheus, with an invisible eagle devouring your liver."

Kyan turned slowly round, much after the fashion of a wooden doll, and drew a deep sigh; so deep was it that it extinguished a six-light candelabra that was standing near him.

"Kyan, what is the matter with you?" repeated the King.

"Your Majesty," replied the Baron, "personally, there is nothing the matter with me. I am neither hungry, nor in love, nor in debt, nor jealous; but I am in despair."

"Why? What has happened? Speak!"

"I am grieving over our beloved monarch!" answered Kyan. "Born to be happy; endowed with a godlike face, with Herculean strength, with a generous heart; created to have the world lie at your feet--and yet your Majesty is sad!"

"Yes, that is true!" said Augustus, frowning. "I am sad!"

"Fifteen of us are sitting here, and none of us know how to make you merry; the women betray you, and grow old; the wine turns sour; your money is stolen; and when in the evening you wish to enjoy yourself in merry company, your faithful subjects meet you with death's-head faces. What wonder, then, that I, who love my King, am in despair?"

Augustus smiled; then, seizing a goblet, he knocked with it on the table. Immediately two dwarfs stepped forth from behind the sideboard, and stood before the King.

"Iramm," said the King, "order a big-bellied bottle of Ambrosia to be brought here! Kyan, I make you cup-bearer."

Ambrosia was the name given to the Hungarian wine furnished to the King, and pressed out for him specially by Count Zichy. It was the wine of wines, thick like syrup, treacherously smooth, but strong enough to make a giant dead drunk.

Iramm and his companion disappeared, and shortly afterwards a negro entered, bearing a silver tray, on which was an enormous bottle. All the guests rose at once and greeted it with low bows.

"Kyan, do your duty!" cried the King.

Kyan rose. The dwarfs brought another tray with glasses; but on the cup-bearer whispering something to them, they withdrew behind the sideboard, from whence they emerged a few moments later, bringing glasses of various sizes.

With the dignity of an official who is fully conscious of the importance of his position, Kyan began carefully arranging the glasses.

In the centre he placed a large and beautiful glass for the King, this he surrounded by smaller glasses destined for the favourites, and outside these was another row of glasses, much smaller than the last, so small indeed that they looked like thimbles.

All watched him with curiosity.

Then, taking the large bottle, Kyan began to pour out the wine, being careful not to shake it. First he filled all the smallest glasses. It is true that these did not hold much wine, but there were so many of them that before they were all filled, the bottle was half empty. The cup-bearer next filled the larger glasses. The wine in that large bottle grew speedily less, and by the time he came to the King's glass there was no wine left. Then Kyan poured into it the lees that remained at the bottom of the bottle, and looked at Augustus.

"What a splendid cup-bearer you are," said the King, laughing. "I am the last. What does that mean?"

The courtiers also laughed.

"Your Majesty," said Kyan, placing the empty bottle on the table, "this is nothing new. What I have done to-day with the wine is only what your officials do every day with the income of the state. In the first place, every small employé fills his own pockets, then the superiors, of course, do not forget themselves, and after that there remains nothing for the King."

The King clapped his hands, and looked round on those present.

"Kyan, your health! The parable is worthy of Æsop. But order another bottle for me."

The negro brought a second bottle of Ambrosia.

All laughed because the King laughed, but they looked askance at Kyan, who, having taken the smallest glass, was drinking to the health of the Hercules of Saxony.

Then they all fell on their knees, and, raising their glasses, shouted acclamation.

The King emptied his glass, and said,--

"Let us talk of something else."

Fürstenberg was the first to rise.

"Your Majesty," said he, "at this hour one should only speak of that which rules over both the night and the day; and that is Woman."

"Good!" exclaimed the King. "Let every one describe his favourite. Fürstenberg shall begin."

The King smiled maliciously as he said this, and Fürstenberg made a grimace.

"The precedence has been given to me," said the young favourite, "but this is only a proof that his Majesty sees everything. The King knows that I cannot lie, and this is why he exposes me to such a humiliation. But I entreat your Majesty to excuse me from drawing a picture of my favourite."

"No, no!" exclaimed several voices. "It is not necessary to give the portrait a name, but the King's commands must be obeyed."

All knew, more or less, why the young Prince was reluctant to speak. This was a critical moment of his life, for he was playing a love comedy with a widow over forty years of age, and famous for the fact that, owing to the thickness of the paint she put on her face, it was impossible for any one to see the colour of her skin. The widow was rich, and Fürstenberg was in need of money.

When they became too noisy, the King commanded silence, and said,--

"You must depict this painted love of yours."

To gain courage to perform the task imposed on him, the giddy young courtier emptied his glass.

"My love," said he, "is the prettiest lady in the world. Who can deny it? Who can tell what is hidden beneath the mask which she puts on in order to prevent common mortals from looking at her?"

A loud burst of laughter here interrupted him.

Beside him sat Adolf Hoym. He was a well-made man, but his expression was disagreeable and his small eyes had a timid look. Hoym was famous for his love adventures, but for several years he had kept them so secret that it was thought they no longer had an attraction for him. It was said that he had married, but no one had seen his wife. She was hidden away at his country house.

Hoym was already tipsy, that could easily be told by the strange movements of his head, and by the efforts he