He continued his pacings. Suddenly he came to a dead stop. He was standing in front of a large mirror. For the first time since he was seventeen he had seen his face without whiskers. His eyes still fixed on his reflection, he beckoned the Chancellor to approach.
"Come here," he said, clutching him by the arm. "You see that?" He pointed to the reflection. "That is what I look like? The mirror hasn't made a mistake of any kind? That is really and truly what I look like?"
"Yes, sire."
For a little while the King continued to gaze fascinated at his reflection, and then he turned on the Chancellor.
"You coward!" he said. "You weak-kneed, jelly-souled, paper-livered imitation of a man! You cringe to a King who looks like that! Why, you ought to kick me."
The Chancellor remembered that he had one kick owing to him. He drew back his foot, and then a thought occurred to him.
"You might kick me back," he pointed out.
"I certainly should," said the King.
The Chancellor hesitated a moment.
"I think," he said, "that these private quarrels in the face of the common enemy are to be deplored."