The Lighted Match

There was peace, summer, perfume, in the moonlit air and Karyl smiled

ironically as he reflected that even the bodyguard so carefully selected

by Von Ritz might at any moment enter the place and raise the shout of

"Long live King Louis!"

Leaning over the parapet, he could see one of his fantastically

uniformed soldiery pacing back and forth before a sentry-box, his musket

jauntily shouldered, and a bayonet glinting at his belt. Karyl stood

looking, and his lips curled skeptically as he wondered whether the man

would repel or admit assassins.

Somewhat wearily the King turned and leaned on the stone coping of the

outer wall. He was at one end where a shadow cloaked him, but he lighted

a cigarette and the match that flared up threw an orange-red light on

his face, showing eyes which were lusterless. For a few moments he held

the match in his hollowed palms, coaxing its blaze in the breeze. Before

it had burned out there came a sharp report and Karyl heard the spat of

flattening lead on the masonry at his back. The echo rattled along the

rocky side of the hill. One of the sentry-boxes had answered his unasked

question of loyalty.

He waited. There was no rush of feet. No medley of anxiously inquiring

voices. Others had heard the report, of course, yet no one hastened to

inquire and investigate. The King, pacing farther back where his

silhouette was less clearly defined, laughed again, very bitterly.

Finally Von Ritz came. "It seems that we can rely on no one," he said.

"The Palace Guard had been picked from the few in whom I still believed.

I had hoped there was a trustworthy remnant."

"One of them has just tried a shot at me with one of my own muskets."

The King spoke impersonally as though the matter bore only on the

psychic question of trusting men. "The spot is there on the wall." Then

he added with bitter whimsicality: "It seems to me, Colonel, that we

have either very poor marksmen in our service, or else we supply them

with very poor rifles."

For a moment Von Ritz almost smiled. "I was passing the point as he

touched the trigger, Your Majesty," he replied with calmness. "I will

personally vouch for his future harmlessness."

The lighted door, at the same moment, framed the figure of an aide.

"Your Majesty," he said with a bow, "Monsieur Jusseret prays a brief

audience."

Karyl turned to Von Ritz, his brows arching interrogation. In answer the

Colonel wheeled and addressed the officer, who waited statuesquely: "His

Majesty will not receive Monsieur Jusseret. Any matters of interest to

France will receive His Majesty's attention when they reach him through

France's properly accredited ambassador."