"Motor to Biarritz? You must be mad," said Dick Waring."Why?" I asked; though I knew why as well as he. "A nice way to receive an invitation.""If you must know, it's because the King of Spain will be there, visiting his English fianc e,"Dick answered."I wish him happiness," said I. "I hear he's a fine young fellow. Why isn't there room inBiarritz for the King and for me?""The detectives won't think there is, nor will they give you credit for your generoussentiments," said Dick."They won't know I'm there.""They knew when you went to Barcelona, from Marseilles."This was a sore subject. It is not my fault that my father was as recklessly brave a general, and as obstinately determined a partisan as Don Carlos ever had. If I had been born in thosedays, it is possible that I should have done as my father did; but I was not born, andtherefore not responsible. Nor was it the King's fault that we lost our estates which myancestors owned in the days of Charles V; nor that we lost our fortune, we Casa Trianas;nor that my father was banished from Spain. For the King was not born, therefore he wasnot responsible; so why should I blame him for anything that has happened to me?It was perhaps ill-judged to visit my father's land, since to him it had been a land forbidden.But a few months after his death, when I was twenty-one, the longing to see Spain hadbecome an obsession. And it must have been my evil star which pg 4]influenced ananarchist to throw a bomb at a royal personage on the very day I arrived at Barcelona, thinly "disguised" under an English name.
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