The duke then hired a man just the size of the manager, dressed him the same, put the mask on him, and took him to the next masquerade, when the king, who had been previously apprised of the plot, was to be present. As his {095}majesty entered, Heidegger ordered the orchestra to play "God save the King." No sooner was his back turned than the impostor, imitating his voice and manner, ordered "Charlie over the Water,"--a song that referred to Charles Edward, the Pretender, and ought certainly not to have been played in presence of George. Heidegger was horrified; he raved and swore at the musicians, and made them recommence the loyal tune. A few bars of "God save the King" were no sooner performed than the impostor found an opportunity to again order "Charlie over the Water." The orchestra thought their master must be drunk, but obeyed. By this time the house was in a perfect uproar, and cries of "Shame! shame!" arose from every part of it. The king's officers wanted to kick the musicians out; but the Duke of Cumberland, who was in the secret, restrained them. Heidegger was beside himself with rage and fright, but he came boldly forward and offered to discharge the band, then and there. The impostor appeared at his side and said, in a plaintive voice, looking toward the king: "Sire, the whole fault lies with that devil in my likeness." That was too much. Poor Heidegger fairly gasped for breath when he gazed upon his double. He turned pale and stared; astonishment had struck him dumb. At last, thinking that his joke had been carried far enough, the Duke of Montague ordered his man to unmask, and the mystery was explained. Heidegger was in a perfect frenzy; he stamped his feet, retired from the stage, and fell, in a state of exhaustion, into an arm-chair, then commanded his servants to extinguish the lights at once, swearing that he would never again superintend a masquerade until that mask lay crushed to atoms at his feet.