Speak, Madam, for thy servant heareth.

(_The other servant is now also standing to attention, awaiting
orders_.)

QUEEN. Bring some wine.
(_The Attendant_ GOES.)

That Order of the Garter which I had intended to onfer upon the Sultan--
have you, as Prime Minister, any objection if I bestow it nearer home, on
one to whom personally--I cannot say more--on yourself, I mean.

(_At that pronouncement of the royal favour, the Minister stands,
exhausted of energy, in an attitude of drooping humility. The eloquent
silence is broken presently by the Queen_.)

QUEEN. Dear Lord Beaconsfield, I want your answer.

LORD B. Oh, Madam! What adequate answer can these poor lips make to so
magnificent an offer? Yet answer I must. We have spoken together briefly
to-day of our policies in the Near East. Madam, let me come to you again
when I have saved Constantinople, and secured once more upon a firm basis
the peace of Europe. Then ask me again whether I have any objection, and I
will own--"I have none!"

(RE-ENTERS _Attendant. He deposits a tray with decanter and glasses, and
retires again_.)

QUEEN. Very well, Lord Beaconsfield. And if you do not remind me, I shall
remind you. (_She points to the tray_.) Pray, help yourself!

(_He takes up the decanter_.)

LORD B. I serve you, Madam?

QUEEN. Thank you.

(_He fills the two glasses; presents hers to the Queen, and takes up his
own_.)

LORD B. May I propose for myself--a toast, Madam?

(_The Queen sees what is coming, and bows graciously_.)

LORD B. The Queen! God bless her!

(_He drains the glass, then breaks it against the pole of the tent, and
throws away the stem_.)

An old custom, Madam, observed by loyal defenders of the House of Stewart,
so that no lesser health might ever be drunk from the same glass. To my
old hand came a sudden access of youthful enthusiasm--an ardour which I
could not restrain. Your pardon, Madam!

QUEEN (_very gently_). Go and lie down, Lord Beaconsfield; you need
rest.

LORD B. Adieu, Madam.

QUEEN. Draw your curtains, and sleep well!

(_For a moment he stands gazing at her with a look of deep emotion; he
tries to speak. Ordinary words seem to fail; he falters into poetry_.)

"When pain and anguish wring the brow,
A ministering Angel, thou!"

(_It has been beautifully said, they both feel. Silent and slow, with
head reverentially bowed, he backs from the Presence_.)

(_The Queen sits and looks after the retreating figure, t