“It would be a miracle,” she said to herself, “and miracles do not happen; therefore this has not happened. Presently, I shall wake up in my own bed at Falkenstein.”
Now, Benson, William, and Thomas brought in the coffee, but the queen took no notice. When they went away, the rest of the company slipped off quietly, and the king was left alone with the ambassador; for the queen could hardly be said to count.
“You want to know all about it, I suppose?” said his majesty in a sulky voice. “Well, you have a right to it, and I shall tell you. We were just sitting down to dinner at Falkenstein, rather late,—hours get later every year, I think—when I heard a row in the premises, and the captain of the guard, Colonel McDougal, came and told us that a man had arrived with the horns and tail of the Firedrake, and was claiming the reward. Her majesty and I rose and went into the outer court, where we found, sitting on that carpet with a glass of beer in his hand, a respectable-looking upper servant, whom I recognised as your butler. He informed us that he had just killed the beast, and showed us the horns and tail, sure enough; there they are! The tail is like the iron handle of a pump, but the horns are genuine. A pair were thrown up by a volcano, in my great-grandfather’s time Giglio I.* Excellent coffee this, of yours!”
* The History of this Prince may be read in a treatise
called The Rose and the Ring, by M. A. Titmarsh.
London, 1855.
The ambassador bowed.
“Well, we asked him where he killed the Firedrake, and he said in a garden near Gluckstein. Then he began to speak about the reward, and the ‘perkisits,’ as he called them, which it seems he had read about in my proclamation. Rather a neat thing; drew it up myself,” added his majesty.
“Very much to the point,” said the ambassador, wondering what the king was coming to.
“Glad you like it,” said the king, much pleased. “Well, where was I? Oh, yes; your man said he had killed the creature in a garden, quite near Gluckstein. I didn’t much like the whole affair: he is an alien, you see; and then there was my niece, Molinda—poor girl, she was certain to give trouble. Her heart is buried, if I may say so, with poor Alphonso. But the queen is a very remarkable woman—very remarkable—”