The evenings on which there was no dancing were equally amusing in their way. Wandering through the shrubberies of the Königspark in the summer twilight, Cyril found himself accosted in sheltered corners first by one man and then by another who did not dare to dispute the general edict in public, but thought it might be advisable to remain friends with both sides under the rose. Naturally these people were not of the class or character with whom friendship was most desirable, being chiefly gentlemen who lived by their wits, with a sprinkling of Jews who believed that the Chevalier Goldberg had bought Cyril for their nation, and that this justified them in claiming his services for themselves, and it was a never-ending amusement to Mansfield to observe the adroitness with which Cyril snubbed them and dropped them promptly back into their proper places. There was one elderly capitalist who seemed to have been mildly coerced by the Chevalier into giving in his adhesion to the national movement, for on three separate occasions he pursued Cyril with a mournful persistence, endeavouring to persuade him that, since the masters of money throughout Europe were now for once united, it was folly to waste the force of such a combination on the mere acquisition of Palestine, when it might be used to establish a universal empire on a financial basis. The contrast between the frail, cringing figure of the old man, and his world-embracing schemes, was sufficiently ludicrous; but he stuck to his point until Cyril asked him what the hapless Jews scattered throughout Europe, on whom the popular fury would at once fall in case his plan was attempted, would think of him. Then he wrung his hands and made as though to rend his clothes, and departed sorrowful. The three days mentioned by Cyril as the duration of the ostracism had elapsed; but when the usual visit to the springs was paid on the fourth morning, Mansfield noticed no change in the demeanour of the _Kurgäste_. People still looked over, round, and through the two Englishmen, and avoided carefully coming into the slightest personal contact with them as they stood waiting their turn to receive the hot and loathsome beverage. But when the unpleasant duty had been performed, and the drinkers turned away from the kiosk and into the promenade, the event occurred which Cyril had foreseen. Approaching the spring was a tall grey-bearded man of military appearance, walking with two others, who maintained their position a step behind him on either side, and to whom he turned and spoke occasionally. In the foreground, ranged in two lines and leaving an ample path for the new-comer, were all the most aristocratic of the Ludwigsbad visitors, bowing and curtseying with the deepest reverence as he reached them, and manifestly overjoyed when they received a personal greeting. “The Emperor of Pannonia,” whispered Cyril to Mansfield. “Watch!”