Then suddenly an old, thin voice--the voice of the old mountain chief, who remembered Babar the brave--rose on the silence.
"God save the Heir-to-Empire!" It gave the lead, and from every side rose the cry: "God save the Heir-to-Empire!" [Illustration: _The child had slipped it onto his little forefinger._] Prince Askurry's face fell.

He had not meant to rouse loyalty, but he was quick and clever, so he saw that it _had_ been roused, and that now was not the time to try and stifle it.

So his frown turned to a smile as he caught the child to him and rose, holding him in his arms.
"The rogue, my lords," he said lightly, "has forestalled me.

I meant to place the ring upon his finger myself before you all, in token that he does in truth represent our King, but praise be to Heaven! he has saved me the task.

Long live the Heir-to-Empire!" But the nobles as they passed out of the assembly, and the people who heard the tale outside, said it was a strange happening that the innocent child should so claim his right.