her throat, looked coquettishly at King
Yellow-cap, and murmured in his ear--

'What says your Majesty? There is no time like the present.'

'Wedding!' repeated King Yellow-cap, turning from one to another.
'Whose wedding?'

'Whose but your own, gracious liege!' replied the courtiers.

'My own! Nonsense! Whom should I marry?'

'Whom but Silvia, most puissant prince?' said the courtiers again.

'Silvia? Why, she is barmaid at the inn! And besides, she is engaged
to marry somebody else.'

'Ah, you mean the Prince of Sprats,' remarked the ex-King. 'But that
match is broken off. Since you are on the throne he is in opposition,
and can only be considered a pretender; but Silvia is a princess of
the blood, cousin-german of the dynasty, and Columbine into the
bargain; so she can marry nobody but you.'

'That fellow who owns the donkey the Prince of Sprats?' cried
Yellow-cap. 'He the son of King Ormund?'

'Prince Assimund--yes. I spoke to you of him yesterday. A little queer
in the head, you know, but that is only a sign of his royalty.'

'All this may be so,' replied Yellow-cap, stroking his chin; 'but as
to my marrying Silvia--that seems rather sudden.'

'Not more sudden than agreeable, if I were in your place,' observed
the ex-King, with a twinkle in his eye which made the pit laugh.

'Besides,' continued Yellow-cap, 'I have an indistinct notion that
once--somewhere--I loved--but, no! What with the cap and crown
together I can remember nothing. And perhaps Silvia may be she, after
all; she looks something like her; but yet----'

'If your Majesty will let me hang this half of a brass farthing round
your neck,' interrupted Silvia, 'you will have no more doubts about
the matter.' And as she spoke she held the farthing towards him, with
a mischievous smile.

'But don't you care at all for Assimund?' he asked her.

'The interests of the State are supreme,' returned Silvia with a grand
air.

'Well, if I must, I must,' said King Yellow-cap rather ungraciously.
'But I thought the Kings of England could do what they pleased.'

'Oh, dear, no,' exclaimed the Archbishop, 'Magna Charta forbid!'

'Then I wish----' began Yellow-cap.

But he paused. What had he left to wish? He stretched out his hand to
take the half of the brass farthing.

At that moment there was a great noise and confusion at the back of
the stage, and half the audience sprang to their feet, supposing that
the theatre had caught fire. But out of