“You are too undone to prime it, Farnham,” said the King, graciously. “Pray allow me to do it for you.” Lord Farnham thanked him humbly. The King charged the pistol deftly but deliberately. Perfectly calm, nonchalant, smiling as ever, he began to hum a rather loose ballad under his breath. Having primed Lord Farnham’s and placed it tenderly in his grasp, he primed the other for himself, with precisely the same carefulness of hand and the same carelessness of demeanour. “Farnham,” said the King, “in these somewhat peculiar circumstances I must ask you to take the first shot.” “Sire, you are the King,” said Lord Farnham. “No subject can take precedence of the King.” “Unless the King requests him. But there is really no established mode of procedure, my dear Farnham. I believe this occasion to be unique--unique in the annals of the world. I cannot recall a parallel of any subject being granted such a privilege by his monarch.” “Sire,” said Lord Farnham, impetuous boy as he was, “I am sensible that your noble, your unexampled magnanimity hath conferred such an honour on me and mine as was never conferred upon a house before. Sire, I am overcome by it, believe me.” The young man’s face showed how deeply sensible he was of the King’s singular generosity. He had lost control of its muscles. It twitched as one of rare sensibility may sometimes do under the stress of a ravishing piece of music. The King, on his part, was young and impetuous too. He knew it, and he was aware that he had granted a request that, had either of them been older or more sober blooded, it would have been impossible to prefer, let alone to concede. “My dear Farnham,” he said, having for the first time a sense of the vast responsibilities his kingship implied, “we have given to you, I hope you understand, that which we could not possibly have given to another. It is in consideration, my dear Farnham, of the long and honourable services of your house to mine. We must insist that you fire first. If we create a precedent in the history of the world, we must name all the conditions of it.” Lord Farnham bowed his head in assent. He could not trust himself to speak. For the first time he fully realised how terrible the circumstances were. The King stood opposite his pillows at the foot of the bed. His arms were folded with the same inimitable nonchalance as ever. There was the same slightly humorous indifference in his eyes, the same whimsical deprecation about his mouth. It was as if the whole affair amused him a little, and bored him a little too. The implacable husband, hardly daring to look at Charles, raised the pistol in his trembling fingers. As he did so, his wife stepped in front of the King. “Harry,” she said, “thou art surely mad; thou art overwrought a little with thy weakness. The fever is not yet out of thy blood. Lie down, mine own, and get thee to sleep again.”