I raised my hand and there was silence.
“Comrades,” I shouted, “we all alike serve under Liberty. The statue of our dead heroes watches over King and people.” Again the air was rent.
I turned. General Hartzel, following me, had just cantered up. On his grim, granite face was a smile like wintry sunshine.
“General Hartzel,” I cried, “you will march the troops past in review order!” Then I cantered over to the saluting base. I was King!
An old man in uniform was fidgeting about on a gray horse. At his side was a young officer, dark, almost swarthy, whispering eagerly. In a landau at the back sat a frock-coated gentleman with an order in his buttonhole. He had the broadness between the eyes of the Tartar. With him was the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. Out of her big black eyes shone the light of admiration. In a mist I saw again the small child in the garden, her wondering worship and the big English schoolboy.
“Prince,” I cried, “will you do me the honor of taking the salute?” I spoke to him so as to force an answer. The unexpected compliment flustered him.
“Your Majesty,” he faltered, “my usefulness is over.”
“No,” I replied, engineering my restive charger to the discomfiture of the second cousin, “we will work together for Ertaria, Prince.” I held out my hand, and in a moment the white-haired old fellow was off his horse and kneeling, kissing my hand. How the populace roared aloud their pleasure! The bands crashed out the national anthem, ladies fluttered their scarfs, a whole forest of hats waved in the air. I was King, and apparently popular. It was an exhilarating feeling. I thought of the real Paul shut up in a satinwood cabin on board a kicking little steam yacht, and smiled.
The Prince and I took the salute; he reined in to a respectful distance. Afterward I was conducted to the landau. The Prince stayed a moment to speak to the second cousin. I rode up alone and dismounted.
“Have you no welcome for the King, Princess Marie?” I asked.