“There is one thing that makes me feel less regret than I should otherwise have done for the postponement of the coronation,” M. Drakovics was saying. “I have received this morning a despatch in cipher from my agent at Czarigrad, saying that he finds the Roumi Government far more favourably disposed towards Thracia and your Majesty than we could have dared to hope. He has even received a hint from a very high quarter to the effect that if we could put off the coronation for a certain length of time, so as to avoid anything that might have the appearance of a desire to force the hand of the Grand Signior, our right as a nation to choose our own sovereign would before very long be recognised. That would strengthen our position in Europe enormously. If Roum recognises us, Scythia can do little.” “But Scythia will in the meantime bring pressure on Roum to refuse to recognise us,” said Cyril. “Surely you are losing a great opportunity for the chance of grasping at a shadow. Is it decided that the coronation shall be postponed?” “What else can we do?” asked M. Drakovics. “The King must be crowned in St Peter’s chapel, and with the crown of Alexander the Patriot. The chapel is in ruins, the crown a mere lump of metal, and both must be restored before they can be used.” “But this is madness!” cried Cyril. “Do you intend to wait for the chapel to be rebuilt? It will probably take months. After all, when it is restored, it won’t be the old chapel, so why not have the coronation somewhere else at once?” “Because you are not acquainted with our people, milord,” was the studiously mild reply of M. Drakovics. “They would not recognise any king not crowned on that spot, and with that crown. Moreover, in an emergency like the present, when our actions are certain to be jealously scrutinised in order to discover the least flaw in the legality of our proceedings, we must be doubly careful to do everything in the very strictest order.” “Then why not clear away the ruins and hold the ceremony in the open air, or in a tent pitched on the site of the chapel?” cried Cyril. “There must be jewellers in Bellaviste, who would not take more than a day to knock together out of your lump of gold something sufficiently like a crown for all practical purposes. Take my word for it, M. Drakovics, if we lose the day finally, it will be owing to delay now.” “You must allow me to differ from you, milord,” was the answer. “In my opinion, the day is far more likely to be lost through undue precipitation. But after all, the matter is entirely in his Majesty’s hands. Is it your wish, sir, that the coronation should take place immediately or not?” “Well,” said Caerleon, “you ought to know best,--and naturally it would be a very good thing to begin the reign with full recognition from Roum.” “Your reign has begun,” said Cyril. “The coronation only puts a seal upon it, half-sentimental, half-religious.”