to hear what was said. He expected to be interested
and amused. He was not disappointed.

Sir Bartholomew Bland-Potterton was at his very best. He made a
long speech about the sacred cause of European civilisation, and the
supremely important part which the King of Megalia was called upon to
play in securing victory and lasting peace. He also talked about the
rights of small nationalities. King Konrad Karl rose to the same level
of lofty sentiment in his reply. He went further than Sir Bartholomew
for he talked about democracy in terms which were affectionate, a rather
surprising thing for a monarch whose power, when he had it, was supposed
to be absolute.

"I go," he said. "If necessary I offer up myself as a fatted calf, a
sacrifice, a burnt ewe lamb upon the altar of liberty. I say to the
people--to my people 'Damn it, cut off my head.' It's what they will
do."

"Dear me," said Sir Bartholomew. "Dear me. I trust not. I hope not. You
will have the support, the moral support, of all the Allies. I should be
sorry to think--we should all be sorry----"

The king, who was standing in the middle of the hearthrug, struck a fine
attitude, laying his hand on his breast.

"It will be as I say," he said. "Gorman knows. Corinne, though she says
'No, no, never,' she knows. The people of Megalia, what are they? I will
tell you. Butchers and pigs. Pork butchers. To them it is sport to kill
a king. But you say 'Go,' and Gorman says 'Go.' And the cause of Europe
says 'Go.' And Corinne she also. Good. The Prime Minister of Megalia
trots out his hatchet. I say 'By Jove, here is my neck."

Sir Bartholomew Bland-Pottertan was greatly affected. He even promised
that a British submarine would patrol the Megalian coast with a view
to securing the king's safety. He might perhaps have gone on to offer a
squadron of aeroplanes by way of body-guard, but while he was speaking,
Madame burst into the room.

She was evidently highly excited. Her face, beneath its coating of
powder, was flushed. Her eyes were unusually bright. Her hair--a most
unusual thing with her--appeared to be coming down. She rushed straight
to the king and flung her arms round his neck.

"Konrad," she said, "my Konrad. You shall not go to Megalia. Never,
never will I say 'Be a King.' Never shall you live with those so
barbarous people. I said 'Go.' I admit it. I was wrong, my Konrad.
Behold!"

She released the king from her embrace, fumbled in her handbag and drew