“Naturally. It is his business to be ready for any attack on the part of those who are jealous at our power. The whole Fatherland is a sword in his hand, which he sheathes. It would long ago have leaped from the scabbard but for him.” “Against whom?” asked Michael. “Who is the enemy?” Falbe hesitated. “There is no enemy at present,” he said, “but the enemy potentially is any who tries to thwart our peaceful expansion.” Suddenly the whole subject tasted bitter to Michael. He recalled, instinctively, the Emperor’s great curiosity to be informed on English topics by the ordinary Englishman with whom he had acquaintance. “Oh, let’s drop it,” he said. “I really didn’t come to Munich to talk politics, of which I know nothing whatever.” Falbe nodded. “That is what I have said to you before,” he remarked. “You are the most happy-go-lucky of the nations. Did he speak of England?” “Yes, of his beloved England,” said Michael. “He was extremely cordial about our relations.” “Good. I like that,” said Falbe briskly. “And he recommended me to spend two months in Berlin in the winter,” added Michael, sliding off on to other topics. Falbe smiled. “I like that less,” he said, “since that will mean you will not be in London.” “But I didn’t commit myself,” said Michael, smiling back; “though I can say ‘beloved Germany’ with equal sincerity.” Falbe got up. “I would wish that--that you were Kaiser of England,” he said. “God forbid!” said Michael. “I should not have time to play the piano.” During the next day or two Michael often found himself chipping at the bed-rock, so to speak, of this conversation, and Falbe’s revealed attitude towards his country and, in particular, towards its supreme head. It seemed to him a wonderful and an enviable thing that anyone could be so thoroughly English as Falbe certainly was in his ordinary, everyday life, and that yet, at the back of this there should lie so profound a patriotism towards another country, and so profound a reverence to its ruler. In his general outlook on life, his friend appeared to be entirely of one blood with himself, yet now on two or three occasions a chance spark had lit up this Teutonic beacon. To Michael this mixture of nationalities seemed to be a wonderful gift; it implied a widening of one’s sympathies and outlook, a larger comprehension of life than was possible to any of undiluted blood.