"We have avenged the death of our ambassador," Balderdash was saying. "We have sent out five punitive expeditions in all. Our quarter of the imperial city shows the power of arms more completely than any other. We have set the highest standard, and our army is the admiration of all."
The count watched the face of his master as he spoke, but there was no sign of satisfaction in it. The Emperor was out of humor.
"We have not done enough," he said. "If we had, those pagans would not have ventured to laugh—yes, actually to laugh—in our imperial presence. Balderdash, you have not done your duty. I shall take command myself at once. We must have a real punitive expedition, and not one of your imitations. If they want war, let them have it."
"We can not have war, Your Majesty, without an enemy, and we can find no enemy. All their armed men are killed or have fled, and the rest of the population run away from us as soon as we appear."
"Count," said the Emperor sternly, "do you remember your oath to our person? Do you know your duties as a field-marshal?"
"I think so, Your Majesty."
"Is it not your duty to provide every requisite for war at my command?"
"Yes, Your Majesty."
"Then I depend upon you to provide an enemy. What military requisite is more important? Remember the fate of Fismark, and do your duty. We must have a war. That is what I have come here for, and I do not propose to be disappointed. We must have a punitive expedition at once. What are my engagements for to-morrow?"
"Your Majesty's mustache artist is coming at 5:30," replied the count, looking at a memorandum. "Breakfast at 6—inspection of infantry at 6:30—naval maneuvres at 8—reception of our officers at 10:30—reception of foreign officers at 11:30—reception of civilians at 12—luncheon at 12:30—photographer from 1 to 3. We have made no appointments after 3, Your Majesty."