“It could not make a mother forget her child,” said the Queen, and with the word caught up Fido-which-was-Cathay and kissed her.
“Nice Queen,” purred Cathay-which-was-Fido, “I do love you.”
“I am sure we had a child once,” said the Queen, hugging her, “and that we have been made to forget.”
Even as she spoke the hangings of cloth of gold, pieced together from the spoil of lost galleons, rustled at the touch of someone outside. The Queen dried her eyes, which needed it, and said, “Come in.”
The arras was lifted and a tall figure entered.
“Bless my soul,” said the King of the Under Folk, “it’s the Professor of Conchology.”
“No,” said the figure, advancing, “it is the King of the Mer-people. My brother King, my sister Queen, I greet you.”
“This is most irregular,” said the King.
“Never mind, dear,” said the Queen, “let us hear what his Majesty has to say.”
“I say—Let there be peace between our people,” said the Mer-King. “For countless ages these wars have been waged, for countless ages your people and mine have suffered. Even the origin of the war is lost in the mists of antiquity. Now I come to you, I, your prisoner—I was given to drink of the cup of oblivion and forgot who I was and whence I came. Now a counter-charm has given me back mind and memory. I come in the name of my people. If we have wronged you, we ask your forgiveness. If you have wronged us, we freely forgive you. Say: Shall it be peace, and shall all the sons of the sea live as brothers in love and kindliness for evermore?