"Our life is of no value beside our honour," said Alexander, with dignified scorn. He reached into the breast of his uniform and drew out a document, which he threw, almost contemptuously, on the table before him. "There is our answer. The hand of Alexander will never sign the order that declares this war. But, sirs, if on war you are bent, war you shall have. We gladly lay down the distasteful task of ruling a nation of ingrates."
The men round the table sat silent. But each of them knew that the paper was the King's abdication!
As he turned the sound of sudden tumultuous cheering came up to them from the streets below. It was almost as though the news of the stubborn King's dramatic exit had been translated by some speedy telepathy to the eager crowds without. Alexander frowned bitterly and turned back to the silent company about the council table.
"They cheer now," he said grimly. "What will they do after your mad determination and their lust has flooded the country in blood—and German Uhlans ride down the Lodz? Sirs, I have warned you. The ruin of Ironia be on your heads!"
"We do not fear that!" cried Vanilis. "We fight for the provinces that were stolen from us, and God will be with us."
Alexander did not reply. He walked slowly from the room, head held proudly high, one hand clenched across his breast, the other pressed tightly on his sword hilt.
"The King is dead," uttered one of the men, almost with awe. "Long live the——"
"Long live King Peter!" cried another, with enthusiasm.
For a door at the other end of the hall had opened to admit the prince. His sudden arrival was the cause, obviously, of the clamour that had broken out in the square below. Prince Peter was flushed with rapid riding and spattered with mud. It was clear that he had ridden far and fast to attend this momentous conference.
"Gentlemen, it is war!" he cried, with high enthusiasm. "The country through which I have come is literally ablaze. Nothing can hold us back now. Austria has struck the first blow. And I bring you news. The Russian armies move on Mulkovina to-morrow. Ironia must declare herself to-day."