Before an answer could reach him important events supervened. The reverberations of the bomb brought Max flying back to the bosom of his family; and then the Charlotte episode had followed, over which Max had not been at all sympathetic, for in spite of his emancipated views about things in general, he had still the particular notion that revolution belonged only to men, and that women, incapable of conducting it efficiently, had far better leave it alone.
And so it was that only when things had begun to resettle themselves was any fresh reference made to the book's forthcoming publication.
As soon as the subject was broached Max presented a face of polite astonishment.
"I thought you knew, sir," he said.
"Knew what?"
"The most important event in recent history; I even thought you might have instigated it."
"I don't know what you are talking about."
"Then I must break the news. My book has been burned to the ground." He spoke as though it had been an edifice. "I am told, for my consolation, that it burned extremely well—'fiercely,' the papers said—and gave the firemen a lot of trouble. Your letter and the news reached me almost simultaneously; I knew, therefore, that you would be glad."
"No, no, don't say 'glad,'" protested the King; "in a way I am sorry, even. I only wanted it to be anonymous. One can do things anonymously. How did it come about?"
"It was the work of an incendiary."