Nor could Hyacinth resist her any longer. Belvane upon her palfrey, laughter in her eyes and roses in her cheeks, her lips slightly parted with eagerness as she flings her silver to the crowd, adorably conscious of her childishness and yet glorifying in it, could have no enemies that day. "She is a dear," said Hyacinth to Coronel. "She will make a wonderful Queen." "I know a Queen worth two of her," said Coronel. "But you do admire her, don't you?" "Not particularly." "Oh, Coronel, you must," said Hyacinth, but she felt very happy all the same. They rode off the next day to their kingdom. The Chancellor had had an exciting week; for seven successive evenings he had been extremely mysterious and reserved to his wife, but now his business was finished and King Merriwig reigned over Eastern Euralia and King Coronel over the West. Let us just take a look at Belvane's diary before we move on to the last scene. "_Thursday, September 15th_," it says. "_Became good._" Now for the last scene. King Merriwig sat in Belvane's garden. They had spent the morning revising their joint book of poetry for publication. The first set of verses was entirely Merriwig's own. It went like this: _Bo, boll, bill, bole._ _Wo, woll, will, wole._ A note by the authors called attention to the fact that it could be begun from either end. The rest of the poems were mainly by Belvane, Merriwig's share in them consisting of a "Capital," or an "I like that," when they were read out to him; but an epic commonly attributed to Charlotte Patacake had crept in somehow. "A person to see your Majesty," said a flunkey, appearing suddenly. "What sort of person?" asked Merriwig. "A sort of person, your Majesty." "See him here, dear," said Belvane, as she got up. "I have things to do in the Palace." She left him; and by and by the flunkey returned with the stranger. He was a pleasant-looking person with a round clean-shaven face; something in the agricultural way, to judge from his clothes. "Well?" said Merriwig. "I desire to be your Majesty's swineherd," said the other. "What do you know of swineherding?" "I have a sort of natural aptitude for it, your Majesty, although I have never actually been one." "My own case exactly. Now then, let me see--how would you----" The stranger took out a large red handkerchief and wiped his forehead. "You propose to ask me a few questions, your Majesty?" "Well, naturally, I----" "Let me beg of you not to. By all you hold sacred let me implore you not to confuse me with questions." He drew himself up and thumped his chest with his fist. "I have a feeling for swineherding; it is enough." Merriwig began to like the man; it was just how he felt about the thing himself. "I once carried on a long technical conversation with a swineherd," he said reminiscently, "and we found we had much in common. It is an inspiring life."