It was no good trying to frame words as to what he felt. He had said all he could, and it was useless. Father Jervis seemed unable to understand the fierce enthusiasm of a man who now experienced all this, as it appeared, for the first time. He walked silently--exulting. There seemed not many people abroad this morning. The two had presented an order, obtained through Monsignor Allet, at the gates below the Orange Gardens, and had learned from the sentry that until the afternoon this part of the park was closed to the public. Here and there, however, in the distance a single figure made its appearance, walking in the shade or hurrying on some errand. The priests had just come out from the line of trees and had set foot in the avenue itself, when, twenty yards farther up, from the entrance to some other path parallel to their own, a group came out, and an instant later they heard themselves hailed and saw Monsignor Allet himself, in all his purple, hurrying towards them. "You are the very men," he cried, again stretching out his hands in a welcoming French gesture. "His Majesty was speaking of you not five minutes ago. He is here, in the garden. Shall I present you now?" Father Jervis glanced at his friend. "His Majesty is very kind----" he began. "Not a word more! If you will follow me and wait an instant at the entrance, I will speak with His Majesty and bring you in." "I have not my ferraiuola---" began Monsignor. "The King will excuse travellers," smiled the Frenchman. The entrance to the "King's Garden" on this side passes beneath an arch of yew, and here the two waited. Somewhere beyond the green walls they could hear talking, and now and again a burst of laughter. Then the talking ceased, and they heard a single voice. "In what language----" began Monsignor Masterman nervously. "Oh! English, no doubt. You can't talk French?" Monsignor shook his head. "Not a hundred words," he said. Again came the quick footstep, and the French priest appeared, still gay, but with a certain solemnity. "Come this way, gentlemen," he said. "The King will see you." (He glanced at the prelate.) "You won't forget to kneel, Monsignor." To the English prelate the scene that he saw, on emerging at last into the open space in the middle, protected by the ancient yews--even though he should have been prepared for it by all that he had already seen--simply once more dazed and stupefied him. The centre of the space was occupied by a round pond, perhaps thirty yards across, of absolutely still water, and in this mirror, shaded by the masses of foliage overhead, was reflected a picture that might have been taken straight from some painting two hundred years old. For, on the semicircle of marble seats that stood beyond the water, sat a company of figures dressed once more in all the bravery of real colour and splendour, as from days when men were not ashamed to use publicly and commonly these glittering gifts of God.