Knowing the Queen’s interest in the Chedorlahomor Excavation Bill, a number of representative folk, such as the wives of certain Politicians or Diplomats, as well as a few of her own more immediate circle, had called to felicitate her upon its success. Parliament had declared itself willing to do the unlimited graceful by all those concerned, and this in a great measure was due to the brilliant wire pulling of the Queen. She was looking singularly French in a gold helmet and a violet Vortniansky gown, and wore a rope of faultless pearls, clasped very high beneath the chin. “I hope the Archbishop will bless the Excavators’ tools!” she was saying to the wife of the Premier, as the Duchess entered. “The _picks_ at any rate....” That lady made no reply: In presence of royalty she would usually sit and smile at her knees, raising her eyes from time to time to throw, beneath her lashes, an ineffable expiring glance. “God speed them safe home again!” the Archduchess Elizabeth who was busy knitting said. An ardent philanthropist she had begun already making “comforts” for the men, as the nights in the East are cold. The most philanthropic perhaps of all the Royal Family, her hobby was designing, for the use of the public, sanitary, but artistic, places of Necessity on a novel system of ventilation. The King had consented to open (and it was expected appropriately) one of these in course of construction in the Opera Square. “Amen,” the Queen answered, signalling amiably to the Duchess of Varna, whose infrequent visits to court disposed her always to make a fuss of her. But no fuss the Queen could make of the Duchess of Varna, could exceed that being made by Queen Thleeanouhee, in a far-off corner, of her Excellency, Lady Something. The sympathy, the _entente_ indeed that had arisen between these two ladies was exercising considerably the minds of certain members of the diplomatic corps, although had anyone wished to eavesdrop, their conversation upon the whole must have been found to be anything but esoteric. “What I want,” Queen Thleeanouhee was saying, resting her hand confidentially on her Excellency’s knee: “what I want is an English maid with Frenchified fingers---- Is there such a thing to be had?” “But surely----” Lady Something smiled: for the servant-topic was one she felt at home on. “In Dateland, my dear, servant girls are nothing but sluts.” “Life is like _that_, ma’am, I regret indeed, to have to say: I once had a housemaid who had lived with Sarah Bernhardt, and oh, wasn’t she a terror!” Lady Something declared, warding off a little black bat-eared dog who was endeavouring to scramble on to her lap. “Teddywegs, Teddywegs!” the Archduchess exclaimed jumping up and advancing to capture her pet: “He arrived from London not later than this morning,” she said: “from the Princess Elsie of England.” “He looks like some special litter,” Lady Something remarked. “How the dear girl loves animals!”