"And I," said her Majesty, "command the nation, the feudatories, the colonies, the seas, the air—the British Empire. I am chosen by my people their anointed sovereign, guardian of their liberty, Defender of their Faith. The throne is not yours, General, or mine. It belongs to the people who make the laws, and we are their servants—their servants, General. When we have conquered the League, I will ask my people what kind of Government they want, who they will have as their President or their Sovereign. I will obey their orders, but, by God, not yours!"
"You propose to fight my armies?"
"No, I would not have one of my people hurt in such a quarrel. I have half a million men, to fight Russia, France, and Germany—not one to spare for you."
"What do you propose?"
A man had come to the head of the upper stairway, Sir Myles Strangford, Secretary for War.
"Where is the Queen?" he cried. "Gentlemen of the Guard, where is the Queen? I have great news—victory! victory! Our squadron of etheric rams has met the Franco-German fleets. Victory! Victory!"
How the Guard cheered!
Then her Majesty sent for Sir Myles, and he was brought to her.
"Tell me," she said, laughing as he kissed her hand, "who is this General O'Brien? He claims to be the President of some Republic."
Sir Myles looked up towards General O'Brien and laughed also.