"The Emperor, did you say? ..."
"Yes. He came to Nordeich—in—I've forgotten what they call it when great people want to move about without red carpets and lots of fuss."
"Incognito."
"Incognito. He'd broken off his yachting-trip in Norwegian waters—and landed at Kiel only that day. I heard men whisper it.... He was dressed in the field-grey, like his War Minister von Falkenhayn—-and his generals of the Imperial Staff—and all the other officers and men. But he 'stripped off the War-harness,'—that's what they called it!—before he got into the Potsdam train."
"Go on! ... What did he look like? ... They say he has changed a lot o' late."
"I couldn't tell. I'd only seen photos that made him look younger and hid his short arm. But even if he hadn't sat while the others stood—and worn the Iron Cross, Grand Class—and the Black Eagle with diamond swords and a Crown Imperial—I'd have known it was the Emperor, by his eyes."
"By his eyes, you say! ..."
The boy's heart throbbed visibly, the breath came in short puffs through his nostrils, and his lips were twisted awry as he smiled. The smile stiffened out as he nodded. "By his awful eyes! ... When they looked at you they made you feel tired, and empty, and—queer. But when they got angry—you were reminded of—of a tiger lurking to spring out of a cave of ice!"
"Ah! So he got angry, did he?"
Bawne nodded.