Austria seemed to him and his mother the most likely place, but the Emperor Francis Joseph proved a stiffer obstacle than they had reckoned for. When he was earnestly approached on the subject, the Emperor gave an uncompromising refusal couched in the most compromising terms. “Besides being an Emperor, I am also an honest man; and I deal only with honest men.” Then he swung to the other extreme of the pendulum, and paid his court to Russia. The result of this manœuvre was a blunt intimation that he must not even seek a pretext for paying a visit to Petrograd. There were many reasons why Russia should desire to keep him among the outsiders, and the religious one was among the most obvious. Ferdinand was a superstitious, if not a devout, Roman Catholic, ruling a people whose official religion was the Orthodox Church. He had been refused allegiance by the head of the Bulgarian Church, the Patriarch Clement, who had suffered imprisonment in consequence. With a sigh, mother and son admitted there was small hope at present of Russia. Then they turned hopeful eyes on England. He had a sentimental claim upon Queen Victoria, as a Coburg Prince who was born in the very year in which the Prince Consort died. Be sure, this little sentimental memory was kept alive by the astute Princess Clementine. As a small boy, he wrote childish letters in the best English he could muster, and at frequent intervals. As a man, he employed to her his best bedside manner, which few old ladies could resist, and which impressed her so strongly that at his wedding she described him as an “enjoleur”—a beguiler. Wherefore he has since borne the nickname of the “Fat Charmer.” But he got very little out of shrewd Queen Victoria, except a present of a pug dog, of which he made a great fuss. He had it fattened beyond even the stoutness and wheeziness of the ordinary pug, and declared that it was his mascot. Whenever he entertained English notabilities, he made a point of speaking with affectionate reverence of “Her Most Gracious,” as he used to call her. And, as he pronounced the words, a tender moisture obscured his light blue eyes, and just enough huskiness gave them a reverential flavour that was most impressive. His worldly mother entertained greater hopes of King Edward, then Prince of Wales. The pair used to lay in wait for him at Marienbad, where our late King regarded them in the same light as the mineral water—unpleasant, but part of the cure. He entertained them and was entertained, but those who knew him most intimately could not master their smiles when any significance was attached to this complaisance. Tactful and wise as he ever was, our King Edward gave no offence, but raised no hopes. He even went to Constantinople, where he had to wear a red fez as a symbol of the Sultan’s overlordship.