The Professor was evidently surprised, though he tried not to show it. “This must be looked into,” he muttered to himself, taking out a note-book. “And first—what kind of table?” “Tell him!” Bruno whispered to Sylvie, putting his arms round her neck. “Tell him yourself,” said Sylvie. “Ca’n’t,” said Bruno. “It’s a _bony_ word.” “Nonsense!” laughed Sylvie. “You can say it well enough, if you only try. Come!” “Muddle—” said Bruno. “That’s a bit of it.” “_What_ does he say?” cried the bewildered Professor. “He means the multiplication-table,” Sylvie explained. The Professor looked annoyed, and shut up his note-book again. “Oh, that’s _quite_ another thing,” he said. “It are ever so many other things,” said Bruno. “_Aren’t_ it, Sylvie?” A loud blast of trumpets interrupted this conversation. “Why, the entertainment has _begun_!” the Professor exclaimed, as he hurried the children into the Reception-Saloon. “I had no idea it was so late!” A small table, containing cake and wine, stood in a corner of the Saloon; and here we found the Emperor and Empress waiting for us. The rest of the Saloon had been cleared of furniture, to make room for the guests. I was much struck by the great change a few months had made in the faces of the Imperial Pair. A vacant stare was now the _Emperor’s_ usual expression; while over the face of the _Empress_ there flitted, ever and anon, a meaningless smile. “So you’re come at last!” the Emperor sulkily remarked, as the Professor and the children took their places. It was evident that he was _very_ much out of temper: and we were not long in learning the cause of this. He did not consider the preparations, made for the Imperial party, to be such as suited their rank. “A common mahogany table!” he growled, pointing to it contemptuously with his thumb. “Why wasn’t it made of gold, I should like to know?” “It would have taken a very long——” the Professor began, but the Emperor cut the sentence short. “Then the cake! Ordinary plum! Why wasn’t it made of—of——” He broke off again. “Then the wine! Merely old Madeira! Why wasn’t it——? Then this chair! That’s worst of all. Why wasn’t it a throne? One _might_ excuse the other omissions, but I _ca’n’t_ get over the chair!” “What _I_ ca’n’t get over,” said the Empress, in eager sympathy with her angry husband, “is the _table_!” “Pooh!” said the Emperor. “It is much to be regretted!” the Professor mildly replied, as soon as he had a chance of speaking. After a moment’s thought he strengthened the remark. “_Everything_,” he said, addressing Society in general, “is _very much_ to be regretted!” A murmur of “Hear, hear!” rose from the crowded Saloon. There was a rather awkward pause: the Professor evidently didn’t know how to begin. The Empress leant forwards, and whispered to him. “A few jokes, you know, Professor—just to put people at their ease!” “True, true, Madam!” the Professor meekly replied. “This little boy——”