Impatient with himself, he strode away, straight across the lawn and back to the palace. Here he noticed just the slightest atmosphere of uneasiness among some of the retainers of the Royal household,--a vague impression of flurry and confusion. Through various passages and corridors, attendants and pages were either running about with extra haste, or else strolling to and fro with extra slowness. As he turned into one of the ante-chambers, he suddenly confronted a tall, military-looking personage in plain civilian attire, whom he at once recognized as the Chief of the Police. “Ah, Bernhoff!” he said lightly, “any storms brewing?” “None that call for particular attention, Sir Roger,” replied the individual addressed; “But I have been sent for by the King, and am here awaiting his pleasure.” Sir Roger showed no sign of surprise, and with a friendly nod passed on. He began to find the situation rather interesting. “After all,” he argued inwardly, “there is nothing to hinder the King from being a social autocrat, even if he cannot by the rules of the Constitution be a political one. And we should do well to remember that politics are governed entirely by social influence. It is the same thing all over the world--a deluded populace--a social movement which elects a parliament and ministry--and then the result,--which is, that this or that party hold the reins of government, on whichever side happens to be most advantageous to the immediate social and financial whim. The people are the grapes crushed into wine for their rulers’ drinking; and the King is merely the wine-cup on the festal board. If he once begins to be something more than that cup, there will be an end of revelry!”