_ He can do very little--almost nothing! He can only
move one step at a time, and that with much labor and hesitation--he is
the wooden image of Louis XVI!"

"Then," said the girl quickly, "the object of the game is to protect a
king who is not worth protecting!"

Duprez laughed. "Exactly! And thus, in this charming game, you have the
history of many nations! Mademoiselle Gueldmar has put the matter
excellently! Chess is for those who intend to form republics. All the
worry and calculation--all the moves of pawns, bishops, knights,
castles, and queens,--all to shelter the throne which is not worth
protecting! Excellent! Mademoiselle, you are not in favor of
monarchies!"

"I do not know," said Thelma; "I have never thought of such things. But
kings should be great men,--wise and powerful, better and braver than
all their subjects, should they not?"

"Undoubtedly!" remarked Lorimer; "but, it's a curious thing, they seldom
are. Now, our queen, God bless her--"

"Hear, hear!" interrupted Errington, laughing good-humoredly. "I won't
have a word said against the dear old lady, Lorimer! Granted that
she hates London, and sees no fun in being stared at by vulgar crowds, I
think she's quite right,--and I sympathize heartily with her liking for
a cup of tea in peace and quiet with some old Scotch body who doesn't
care whether she's a queen or a washerwoman."

"I think," said Macfarlane slowly, "that royalty has its duties, ye see,
an' though I canna say I object to Her Majesty's homely way o' behavin',
still there are a few matters that wad be the better for her pairsonal
attention."

"Oh bother!" said Errington gaily. "Look at that victim of the nation,
the Prince of Wales! The poor fellow hasn't a moment's peace of his
life,--what with laying foundation stones, opening museums, inspecting
this and visiting that, he is like a costermonger's donkey, that must
gee-up or gee-wo as his master, the people bid. If he smiles at a woman,
it is instantly reported that he's in love with her,--if he frankly says
he considers her pretty, there's no end to the scandal. Poor royal
wretch! I pity him from my heart! The unwashed, beer-drinking,
gin-swilling classes, who clamor for shortened hours of labor, and want
work to be expressly invented for their benefit, don't suffer a bit more
than Albert Edward, who is supposed to be rolling idly in the very lap
of luxury, and who can hardly call his soul his own. Why, the man can't
eat a mu