is a Marshal with the nickname _le chicaneur_. You know
that's meant for you, Grumbkow.

GRUMBKOW.

Outrageous!

KING.

The Ambassador, Vicomte de la Rancune, otherwise _le petit combinateur_.
That's you, Seckendorf.

SECKENDORF.

It's--it's an international insult.

KING.

And he called Eversmann _la rapiniere_, or, as we would say, Old
Rapacity!

EVERSMANN.

The rogue! And such books find their way into the country--marked
properly by the Crown Prince at that!

KING.

Can Wilhelmine be a party to this? That would indeed be scandalous. The
Attorney-General must make a thorough investigation. [_In extreme
anger_.] Isn't it possible for me to have a single quiet moment?

EVERSMANN.

Your Majesty, shall I take these ungodly books to the executioner, to
have them burned?

KING.

No. I wouldn't use them even to light my pipe--not even as bonfires for
our festivities. Gentlemen, shake this matter off, as I have done. This
evening, over our glowing pipes, and in the enjoyment of a glass of good
German beer, we also can be just as witty at the expense of Versailles
and the entire French cabinet.

GRUMBKOW AND SECKENDORF (_together, aside_).

Bonfires for the festivities?

EVERSMANN.

But the books are to be burned, Your Majesty?

KING.

Yes, in another manner. Send them out to the powder mills by the
Oranienburger gate. They can make cartridges for my grenadiers out of
them. [_He goes out_.]

GRUMBKOW, SECKENDORF, EVERSMANN (_aside_). Festivities?

[_They go out_.]

SCENE VII

_The scene changes to the room of Act I_.

BARONET HOTHAM _comes in cautiously through the centre door, followed
by_ KAMKE.

HOTHAM.

A hall with four doors? Quite right. The Princess' room there? And the
Queen's here? Thanks, good friend. [KAMKE _goes out_.] Baronet Hotham is
preserving his _incognito_ to the extent of becoming entirely invisible.
I've smuggled myself into the country from London--by way of Hanover--as
if I were a bale of prohibited merchandise. [_Wipes his forehead_.] The
deuce take this equestrian official business, where a man needs have the
manners of a dandy with the unfeeling bones of a postilion. For four
days I've scarcely been out of the saddle. [_He throws himself into a
chair_.] Gad! if the nations knew how a man has to win his way through
to the Foreign Office by years of courier-riding, they'd not think it
strange that their statesmen, grown mature, seem disinclined to trip t