looked full in Coralie's eyes, drained my glass of cognac, and laughed.
"But why should that be amusing?" I asked. "And, at least, shall we not add to our imaginary audience the crowd of your admirers?"
"As you will," said she with a shrug. "Whomever we add they would see nothing but two gentlemen getting under the table, oh, so quickly!"
Madame Briande became visibly distressed.
"Is it not so?" drawled Coralie in lazy enjoyment of her excursion.
"Why," said I, "I should most certainly invoke the shelter of your tablecloth, mademoiselle. A king must avoid being misunderstood."
"I thought so," said she with a long look at me. "And you, monsieur?" she added, turning to Wetter.
"I should not get under the table," said he. He strove to render his tone light, but his voice quivered with suppressed passion.
"You wouldn't?" she asked. "You'd sit here before them all?"
"Yes," said he.
Madame Briande rose. Her evident intention was to break up the party. Coralie took no notice; we men sat on, opposite one another, with her between us on the third side of the small square table.
"Must not a politician avoid—being misunderstood?" she asked Wetter.
"Unless there is something else that he values more," was the reply.
She turned to me, smiling still.
"Would not that be so with a king also?"
"Certainly, if there could be such a thing."
"But you think there could not?"
