I am engaged elsewhere." "No, no, let me whisper!" He brought his lips close to my ear and continued almost inaudibly: "You may please me.

You may help a friend.
You may oblige--a king." The last, of course, was the _ne plus ultra_ of inducement according to the count's way of thinking, and he supposed the mere suggestion would vanquish me.

Still I pleaded my engagement.

He insisted, however, repeating in my ear:-- "Oblige a king! A real king! Not a flimsy fool of bourgeois, who makes of himself the laughing-stock of his people, but a real king.

I cannot name him now, but you must know." We were in a narrow passage leading to the Stone Gallery in Whitehall.