The Puppet Crown [3]
only you would be cold, unfriendly, avaricious. Be stone and rule with a rod of iron. Make the people fear you, since they refuse to love you; be stone."
"You can mold lead, but you can not sculpture it; and I am lead."
"Yes; not only the metal, but the verb intransitive. Ah, could the fires of ambition light your soul!"
"My soul is a blackened grate of burnt-out fires, of which only a coal remains."
And the king turned in his seat and looked across the crisp green lawns to the beds of flowers, where, followed by a maid at a respectful distance, a slim young girl in white was cutting the hardy geraniums, dahlias and seed poppies.
"God knows what her legacy will be!"
"It is for you to make it, Sire."
Both men continued to remark the girl. At length she came toward them, her arms laden with flowers. She was at the age of ten, with a beautiful, serious face, which some might have called prophetic. Her hair was dark, shining like coal and purple, and gossamer in its fineness; her skin had the blue-whiteness of milk; while from under long black lashes two luminous brown eyes looked thoughtfully at the world. She smiled at the king, who eyed her fondly, and gave her unengaged hand to the Englishman, who kissed it.
"And how is your Royal Highness this fine day? he asked, patting the hand before letting it go.
"Will you have a dahlia, Monsieur?" With a grave air she selected a flower and slipped it through his button-hole.
"Does your Highness know the language of the flowers?" the Englishman asked.
"Dahlias signify dignity and elegance; you are dignified, Monsieur, and dignity is elegance."
"Well!" cried the Englishman, smiling with pleasure; "that is turned as adroitly as a woman of thirty."
"And am I not to have one?" asked the king, his eyes full of paternal love and pride.
"They are for your Majesty's table," she answered.
"Your Majesty!" cried the king in mimic despair. "Was ever a father treated thus? Your Majesty! Do you not know, my dear, that to me 'father' is the grandest title in the world?"
Suddenly she crossed over and kissed the king on the cheek, and he held her to him for a moment.
The bulldog had risen, and was wagging his tail the best he knew how. If there was any young woman who could claim his unreserved admiration, it was the Princess Alexia. She never talked nonsense to him in their rambles together, but treated him as he should be treated, as an animal of enlightenment.
"And here is Bull," said the princess, tickling the dog's nose with a scarlet geranium.
"Your Highness thinks a deal of Bull?" said the dog's master.
"Yes, Monsieur, he doesn't bark, and he seems to understand all I say to him."
The dog looked up at his master as if to say: "There now, what do you think of that?"
"To-morrow I am going away," said the diplomat, "and as I can not very well take Bull with me, I give him to you."
The girl's eyes sparkled. "Thank you, Monsieur, shall I take him now?"
"No, but when I leave your father. You see, he was sent to me by my son who is in India. I wish to keep him near me as long as possible. My son, your Highness, was a bad fellow. He ran away and joined the army against my wishes, and somehow we have never got together again. Still, I've a sneaking regard for him, and I believe he hasn't lost all his filial devotion. Bull is, in a way, a connecting link."
The king turned again to the gravel pictures. These Englishmen were beyond him in the matter of analysis. Her Royal Highness smiled vaguely, and wondered what this son was like. Once more she smiled, then moved away toward the palace. The dog, seeing that she did not beckon, lay down again. An interval of silence followed her departure. The thought of the Englishman had traveled to India, the thought of the king to Osia, where the girl's mother slept. The former was first to rouse.
"Well, Sire, let us come to the business at hand, the subject of my last informal audience. It is true, then, that the consols for the loan of five
"You can mold lead, but you can not sculpture it; and I am lead."
"Yes; not only the metal, but the verb intransitive. Ah, could the fires of ambition light your soul!"
"My soul is a blackened grate of burnt-out fires, of which only a coal remains."
And the king turned in his seat and looked across the crisp green lawns to the beds of flowers, where, followed by a maid at a respectful distance, a slim young girl in white was cutting the hardy geraniums, dahlias and seed poppies.
"God knows what her legacy will be!"
"It is for you to make it, Sire."
Both men continued to remark the girl. At length she came toward them, her arms laden with flowers. She was at the age of ten, with a beautiful, serious face, which some might have called prophetic. Her hair was dark, shining like coal and purple, and gossamer in its fineness; her skin had the blue-whiteness of milk; while from under long black lashes two luminous brown eyes looked thoughtfully at the world. She smiled at the king, who eyed her fondly, and gave her unengaged hand to the Englishman, who kissed it.
"And how is your Royal Highness this fine day? he asked, patting the hand before letting it go.
"Will you have a dahlia, Monsieur?" With a grave air she selected a flower and slipped it through his button-hole.
"Does your Highness know the language of the flowers?" the Englishman asked.
"Dahlias signify dignity and elegance; you are dignified, Monsieur, and dignity is elegance."
"Well!" cried the Englishman, smiling with pleasure; "that is turned as adroitly as a woman of thirty."
"And am I not to have one?" asked the king, his eyes full of paternal love and pride.
"They are for your Majesty's table," she answered.
"Your Majesty!" cried the king in mimic despair. "Was ever a father treated thus? Your Majesty! Do you not know, my dear, that to me 'father' is the grandest title in the world?"
Suddenly she crossed over and kissed the king on the cheek, and he held her to him for a moment.
The bulldog had risen, and was wagging his tail the best he knew how. If there was any young woman who could claim his unreserved admiration, it was the Princess Alexia. She never talked nonsense to him in their rambles together, but treated him as he should be treated, as an animal of enlightenment.
"And here is Bull," said the princess, tickling the dog's nose with a scarlet geranium.
"Your Highness thinks a deal of Bull?" said the dog's master.
"Yes, Monsieur, he doesn't bark, and he seems to understand all I say to him."
The dog looked up at his master as if to say: "There now, what do you think of that?"
"To-morrow I am going away," said the diplomat, "and as I can not very well take Bull with me, I give him to you."
The girl's eyes sparkled. "Thank you, Monsieur, shall I take him now?"
"No, but when I leave your father. You see, he was sent to me by my son who is in India. I wish to keep him near me as long as possible. My son, your Highness, was a bad fellow. He ran away and joined the army against my wishes, and somehow we have never got together again. Still, I've a sneaking regard for him, and I believe he hasn't lost all his filial devotion. Bull is, in a way, a connecting link."
The king turned again to the gravel pictures. These Englishmen were beyond him in the matter of analysis. Her Royal Highness smiled vaguely, and wondered what this son was like. Once more she smiled, then moved away toward the palace. The dog, seeing that she did not beckon, lay down again. An interval of silence followed her departure. The thought of the Englishman had traveled to India, the thought of the king to Osia, where the girl's mother slept. The former was first to rouse.
"Well, Sire, let us come to the business at hand, the subject of my last informal audience. It is true, then, that the consols for the loan of five