“And even, so it’s said, too,” his Excellency returned: “of licence!” when just at this turn of things the Royal cortège entered the supper-room, to the exhilarating strains of King Goahead’s War-March.
Those who had witnessed the arrival of King Jotifa and his Queen earlier in the afternoon, were amazed at the alteration of their aspect now. Both had discarded their European attire for the loosely-flowing vestments of their native land, and for a brief while there was some slight confusion among those present as to which was the gentleman, or which the lady of the two. The king’s beard long and blonde, should have determined the matter outright, but on the other hand the Queen’s necklet of reeds and plumes was so very misleading.... Nobody in Pisuerga, had seen anything to compare to it before. “Marvellous, though terrifying,” the Court passed verdict.
Attended by their various suites, the royal party gained their places amid the usual manifestation of loyal respect.
But one of the Royal ladies as it soon became evident was not yet come.
“Where’s Lizzie, Lois?” King William asked, riveting the Archduchess’ empty chair.
“We’d better begin without her, Willie,” the Queen exclaimed, “you know she never minds.”
And hardly had the company seated themselves when, dogged by a lady-in-waiting and a maid-of-honour, the Archduchess Elizabeth of Pisuerga rustled in.
Very old and very bent, and (even) very beautiful, she was looking as the Grammar-books say, ‘meet’ to be robbed, beneath a formidable tiara, and a dozen long strands of pearls.
“Forgive me Willie,” she murmured, with a little high shrill tinkling laugh: “but it was so fine, that after tea I, and a Lady, went paddling in the Basin of the Nymphs.”
“How was the water?” the King enquired.