" No one, Sire, to my knowledge," replied

the uneasy porter. " The last time I swept out the gallery it was panelled, as it always has been, ... I am certain this hanging never came out of Your Majesty's depository."

The King, walking at a rapid pace, had already traversed more than two-thirds of the gallery. The Count and porter followed closely; the physician Baumgarten was a little behind, divided between his fears of being left alone and of being exposed to the consequences of what promised to be such a strange adventure.

"Go no further, Sire," exclaimed the porter. "Upon my soul, there is sorcery behind this. At such an hour . . . and since the death of the Queen, your gracious wife . . , they say she walks in this gallery. . . . May God protect us! "

" Stop, Sire," entreated the Count in turn. " Do you not hear the noise that comes from the assembly hall? Who knows to what dangers Your Majesty may be exposed? "

"Sire," broke in Baumgarten, whose candle had just been blown out by a gust of wind, " at least allow me to go and fetch a score of your hal- berdiers."

" Let us go in," said the King sternly, stop