"This is all nonsense, madam. I am not a friend."
"That," answered our Lady, "is incredible. You are doing yourself injustice. My enemies are Russians, Germans, French, not British. You could not possibly be leagued with my enemies. I have sent my messengers to welcome your reinforcements, cleared the northern suburbs to quarter your troops, begged for your counsel as to meeting the Russian advance, and now you come pretending enmity."
"I pretend nothing, madam. I come as President of the British Republic to occupy this Palace."
Margaret laughed at him. "My dear good man, I can't spare room for another cot, even for you. This hospital is jammed to the very doors with my poor guests, the sick. See through that archway"—she pointed to the entrance of the mess-room—"in that one ward there are seven hundred cases of typhus. Come, General O'Brien, I'm badly in need of ambulance, and you must help me."
"I will take charge of that," said the President, brusquely. "Meanwhile, madam, a special train is waiting to take you with your following to Balmoral."
Our Lady turned away from him, crossed to her chair and sat down. She rested her elbows on her knees, her face in her hands, and looked up at this President thoughtfully.
"And so, General O'Brien," she said at last, "you want to sit in my throne, my most comfortless throne."
"I want no throne," answered General O'Brien, "I have come to put an end to this disastrous monarchy. I have no time for delay."
"And who are you?" Margaret lifted her proud head. "Who are you?"
"I command the armies of the Republic—three hundred thousand men."