‘Breakfast is served, your Majesty,’ although the King could see it very well himself. But that was the custom.
‘You may remove the cover,’ the King said.
And the butler did so, discovering the breakfast. I say discovering, for the breakfast was so small that it seemed almost lost in the centre of the great dish. The twelve pages had ranged themselves in lines of six on each side of the table, and although they were very well bred, on the whole they could not help smiling, whereupon all simultaneously drew out their handkerchiefs and began to cough, and then they looked at the windows, as if to see where the draught came from.
But the King did not take any notice, and as soon as he could make himself heard, he said:
‘Ah! and what is this?’
‘It is the breakfast, your Majesty,’ said the butler.
‘Yes, I can see that,’ said the King. ‘But what is the dish called?’
‘Oh, the dish, your Majesty,’ said the butler apologetically. ‘It’s the ordinary silver dish that your Majesty has with the breakfast. I think it’s the fiddle pattern—no, that’s for spoons; but——’
‘You’re an ass,’ said the King, interrupting him angrily.
‘Thank you, your Majesty. Anything else?’