On the afternoon of the ceremony, the scene within the great hall of the palace was magnificence itself! Assembled by thousands and ten thousands, the magnificoes of the land, all in ceremonial attire, moved or tried to move about; but as the huge hall was crowded to its bulging doors, this was difficult, and there were, I regret to say, the usual faintings from lack of air, cries of protest, bad-tempered pushing, caps knocked awry, crumpled ruffs, and lost jewels.
Suddenly the great bell of the palace set up a ponderous and solemn booming—the ceremony was about to begin! Mercilessly crowding back the already densely jammed magnificoes on the toes of still other magnificoes, a number of gentleman ushers contrived to open an aisle the length of the hall, and when this feat had been accomplished, the two tallest sergeants in the royal army opened the double portals leading forth from the royal drawing-room. And now, heralded by a great ringing peal of golden trumpets, and accompanied by a crash of exultant thunder on the palace organ, a noble procession slowly advanced through the gateway into the hall. The generalissimo of the royal armies came first, marching solemnly and quite alone, for he was marshal of the occasion; then came trumpeters in green and yellow; then a chosen detail of giant grenadiers dressed in rose-red and silver-grey; then pages scattering flowers from golden baskets; then a little space; and then, advancing with the dignity of a cloud; appeared the Lord Chancellor, wheeling in the baby.
Of finest yellow gold were the wheels and push-bar of the perambulator, whilst the carriage part had been hollowed from a single stupendous opal! Amid a deafening din of huzzas and shouts and bell clangs, the procession solemnly advanced to a dais raised at the head of the hall.
Suddenly an invisible shape fluttered in through a window, muttered something beside the baby’s cradle, uttered a mocking goblin laugh, and fled away unperceived and unsuspected.
After wheeling the baby to the centre of the dais, the Lord Chancellor gave a signal to the trumpeters to break into the national anthem, and bent over the cradle to take the infant and show him to the throng. To his horror, the cradle was empty! The little Prince’s pillow was there, the coverlet edged with turquoise, and the rattle filled with seed pearls—but no baby.
“The baby! The baby! Where’s the baby?” gulped the Lord Chancellor, scarce able to speak. An awkward pause followed: excited whispers, conjectures, rumors buzzed through the audience. Presently, as the truth began to spread, a growing uproar rocked the hall. Soon everybody was busily looking here and there—lifting up edges of carpets, poking about behind curtains, staring at the ceiling, and examining corners.
All at once a baby’s cry was heard, faint to be sure, but quite unmistakable.
“Search, search, my friends!” cried the King. “The Grand Cross of the Order of the Bluebird to whosoever discovers my child!”
The baby’s cry was heard again! Where could he be?
Suddenly a clever young lady-in-waiting, who had been searching the opal carriage, uttered a piercing shriek. While groping about in the perambulator, she had felt the baby, but had been unable to see him. Like a sudden crumbling of walls, the dreadful truth broke upon everyone present.