"Madame—or rather Princess," he cried, ecstatically, "you could not have praised us more highly."
He touched an electric button as he spoke, and instantly a Buttons appeared.
"The iron cross!" he cried.
"Not for me—oh, sire—not for me?" said I, almost swooning with joy.
"No, Princess, not for you," said the Emperor. "For ourself. We shall give you one of the buttons off our imperial coat. It is our habit every morning at this hour to decorate our imperial self, and we have rung for the usual thing just as you Americans would ring for a Manhattan cocktail."
"What!" I cried, wondering at the man's marvellous acquaintance with the slightest details of American life. "You know the—Manhattan cocktail?"
THE IMPERIAL BAND
"Princess," said the Emperor, proudly, "we know everything."