“Well, what do you think of it?” asked Johnston, as the king disappeared behind a curtain in the direction of the audience chamber.
“I give it up; I only know that the old fellow's daughter, the Princess Bernardino is the most beautiful, the most bewitching creature that ever breathed. Did you notice her eyes and form? Great heavens! was there ever such a vision of human loveliness? Her grace, her voice, her glances drove me wild with delight.”
“You are dead gone,” grumbled the American despondently; “we'll never get away from here in the world. I can see that.”
“I gave up all hope in that direction some time ago,” said Thorndyke; “and why should we care? We were awfully bored with life before we came; for my part I'd as soon end mine up here as anywhere else. Besides, didn't his majesty say that they live longer under his system than we do?”
“I don't take stock in all he says,” growled the American; “he talks like a Chicago real estate agent who wants to sell a lot. Why doesn't he chop off our heads and be done with it?”
Thorndyke burst into a jovial laugh. “You are coming round all right; that is the first joke you have got off since we came here; his royal Nibs may need a court-jester and give you a job.”
“There goes that blamed sunlight again,” exclaimed Johnston, grasping his companion's arm, “don't you see it changing?”
“Yes, and this time it is white, like old Sol's natural smile; but isn't it clear? It seems to me that I could see to the end of the earth in that light. I want to know how he does it.”
“How who does it?”
“Why, the king, of course, it is his work—some sort of invention; but we must keep civil tongues in our heads when we are dealing with a man who can color the very light of the sun.”