"There! That looks better," she declared. "You don't want people to think you're one of these Communist cads, and in favour of a revolution, do you?" The King laughed merrily. That he, the King, should be suspected of being in favour of revolution struck him as irresistibly absurd. Then the second thought which is so often nearer to the truth than the first, supervened. After all, was the idea so absurd? Was he not--an unwilling King? Had he not been increasingly conscious, of late, of a thought lurking at the back of his mind, that he, of all men, had, perhaps, least to lose, and most to gain, in the welter and chaos of revolution? What would he lose? The intolerable burden of his isolation: the responsibility, and the exacting demands of the great position, into which he had been thrust so unexpectedly, and so much against his will. What would he gain? Liberty, Equality, Fraternity! The revolutionary slogan voiced his own personal needs. His laughter died away. Happily, a precocious, fair-haired youth, who was leaning on the shoulder of the rosette-distributing girl, broke the awkward little silence which ensued. "Chuck it, Doris! Can't you see he's one of us?" he remarked. "He's got Navy written all over him." And he nodded to the King, as to a brother officer. "Mind your own business, Bobbie, and I'll mind mine," Doris drawled, unperturbed. "He's a nice boy, but he'd forgotten his rosette. No man, who isn't wearing the right colours, is going to pass me by, tonight, unchallenged." The King pulled himself together with an effort. "But now that I am wearing the right colours, you will let me pass?" he suggested. "I am in rather a hurry." Bobbie promptly dragged the laughing and protesting Doris to one side, and so left the road clear for the King. "Pass, friend!" Bobbie announced. "All's well!" The King dived hastily, once again, into the crowd. A sudden, and curiously belated, fear of recognition, here in the immediate vicinity of the palace, lent wings to his feet. No doubt the reckless audacity of his excursion almost precluded the possibility of recognition. And yet thousands of these people had seen him, at close quarters, only a few hours ago. So they knew about the impending storm, and they were already taking sides. He looked at the rollicking crowd which surged about him, now, with new interest. Red, white, and blue rosettes, similar to the one which was pinned to his own coat, were being worn everywhere. The right colours appeared to be popular. In the elaborate, secret, protective schemes, lettered for code purposes, in the Greek alphabet, from Alpha to Gamma, which the old Duke of Northborough had laid before him, to demonstrate the Cabinet's readiness for every eventuality, the loyalty of the people had no place. Might not that loyalty render the old Duke's schemes unnecessary? But the old Duke wanted, he seemed almost anxious, to force a fight. And the old Duke was, of course, right.