ed army of no mean dimensions, in the uniform of the lout and
vagabond, would rise like a flash of light before the dazzled,
panic-stricken populace, and Marlanx would be master. Without the call
of drum or bugle his sinister soldiers of fortune would leap into
positions assigned them; in orderly, determined company front, led by
chosen officers, they would sweep the square, the Circus and the
avenues, up-town to the Castle, down-town to the fortress and the
railway station, everywhere establishing the pennant of the man who had
been banished.

The present dynasty was to end at one o'clock! So said Marlanx! How
could Dangloss or Braze or Quinnox say him nay? They would be dead or in
irons before the first shock of disaster had ceased to thrill. The
others? Pah! They were as chaff to the Iron Count.

The calm that precedes the storm fell upon the waiting throng; an
ominous silence spread from one end of the avenue to the other. For a
second only it lasted. The hush of death could not have been quieter nor
more impressive. Even as people looked at each other in wonder, the
tumult came to its own again. Afterward a whole populace was to recall
this strange, depressing second of utter stillness; to the end of time
that sudden pall was spoken of with bated breath and in awe.

Then, from the distant Castle came the sound of shouts, crawling up the
long line of spectators for the full length of the avenue to the eager
throng in Regengetz Circus, swelling and growing louder as the news came
that the Prince had ridden forth from the gates. Necks were craned, rapt
eyes peered down the tree-topped boulevard, glad voices cried out
tidings to those in the background. The Prince was coming!

Bonny, adorable Prince Robin!

Down the broad avenue came the Royal Military Band, heading the
brilliant procession. Banners were flying; gold and silver standards
gleamed in the van of the noble cavalcade; brilliantly uniformed
cuirassiers and dragoons on gaily caparisoned horses formed a gilded
phalanx that filled the distant end of the street, slowly creeping down
upon the waiting thousands, drawing nearer and nearer to the spot of
doom.

A stately, noble, inspiring procession it was that swept toward the
Plaza. The love of the people for their little Prince welled up and
overflowed in great waves of acclamation. Pomp and display, gold and
fine raiment were but the creation of man; Prince Robin was, to them,
the choicest creation of God