And off I went to inspect the big wash boiler in the kitchen where, lifting the lid which had been the queen's shield, I was gratified to observe the garments of the Bolsheviki simmering nicely.
"It is not the only vermin that Germania's shield covers," said I. And much pleased with my jeu d'esprit, I poured in another bottle of sheep-dip and returned to the dance salon where supper was now being served at little tables.
As soon as I entered the room I felt trouble brewing. The inevitable hunnish reaction had set in. A tired boche is an ugly one; an intoxicated hun may become either offensively sentimental or surly and ingeniously bestial. And now they were about to become surfeited huns, heavy with wine, heavier with food. I did not fancy the looks of things very much.
The queen alone appeared to be perfectly sober; the others were engaged in that sort of half insolent raillery always provocative of a row, shouting German pleasantries at one another from table to table, lifting slopping glasses, cheering, singing and leering at the ladies.
Bummelzug demanded that the music-box play "Deutschland über Alles," but the disk was non-existent.
Von Dungheim, who exhibited an inclination to weep at any mention of Germany, asked in a hoarsely saturated voice for a folk-song. And Raoul turned on two; and the huns sang first "Du bist wie eine Blume," which shattered them sentimentally so that loud sobs punctuated the "Lorelei" which, of course, followed.
Then Ferdinand, one arm around the Princess Pudelstoff, and a chicken wing in the other hand, lifted a voice choked with food and attempted a Bulgarian folk-song—something about the "Kara Dagh" and "Slivnitza"—but presently lost all recollection of what he was doing and challenged everybody to extemporaneous rhymes in praise of his native land.
Nobody obliged.
"Too stupid!" he remarked thickly. "Nobody clever enough to rhyme 'Bulgarian'—eh, mine host?" looking around at me where I sat shielding Thusis from the playful attentions of King Constantine who was attempting to pinch her.
"Of course," said I, "'Bulgarian' rhymes with 'vulgarian'; but that's obvious." And I smiled at the Tzar of all the Bulgars and offered Thusis a bon-bon.