"He must have been very angry," said the King, picking up first one and then another of a number of swords which lay in front of him. "I wish I had seen his face when he got my Note." "So do I," sighed the Countess. She wished it much more than the King. It is the tragedy of writing a good letter that you cannot be there when it is opened: a maxim of my own, the thought never having occurred to Roger Scurvilegs, who was a dull correspondent. The King was still taking up and putting down his swords. "It's very awkward," he muttered; "I wonder if Hyacinth----" He went to the door and called "Hyacinth!" "Coming, Father," called back Hyacinth, from a higher floor. The Countess rose and curtsied deeply. "Good morning, your Royal Highness." "Good morning, Countess," said Hyacinth brightly. She liked the Countess (you couldn't help it), but rather wished she didn't. "Oh, Hyacinth," said the King, "come and tell me about these swords. Which is my magic one?" Hyacinth looked at him blankly. "Oh, Father," she said. "I don't know at all. Does it matter very much?" "My dear child, of course it matters. Supposing I am fighting the King of Barodia and I have my magic sword, then I'm bound to win. Supposing I haven't, then I'm not bound to." "Supposing you both had magic swords," said Belvane. It was the sort of thing she _would_ say. The King looked up slowly at her and began to revolve the idea in his mind. "Well, really," he said, "I hadn't thought of that. Upon my word, I----" He turned to his daughter. "Hyacinth, what would happen if we both had magic swords?" "I suppose you'd go on fighting for ever," said Hyacinth. "Or until the magic wore out of one of them," said Belvane innocently. "There must be something about it somewhere," said the King, whose morning was in danger of being quite spoilt by this new suggestion; "I'd ask the Chancellor to look it up, only he's so busy just now." "He'd have plenty of time while the combat was going on," said Belvane thoughtfully. Wonderful creature! she saw already the Chancellor hurrying up to announce that the King of Euralia had won, at the very moment when he lay stretched on the ground by a mortal thrust from his adversary. The King turned to his swords again. "Well, anyway, I'm going to be sure of _mine_," he said. "Hyacinth, haven't you _any_ idea which it is?" He added in rather a hurt voice, "Naturally I left the marking of my swords to _you_." His daughter examined the swords one by one. "Here it is," she cried. "It's got 'M' on it for 'magic.'" "Or 'Merriwig,'" said the Countess to her diary. The expression of joy on the King's face at his daughter's discovery had just time to appear and fade away again. "You are not being very helpful this morning, Countess," he said severely.