No one could say that Maximilian had so much as listened. Such tangles had long since become irksome, though he never ceased plunging into the mesh. To unravel details, and incidentally confuse them more, was a notorious mania with the poet-prince. But his thoughts now were all for a girl who had fainted. Murguia he would leave to a court martial. If guilty, the medal should be torn from his breast. Don Anastasio's terrors, however, ran on the other penalties of court martial. "Now you," Maximilian turned to the American, "I understand that you wish to see me. But you must know that law prevails in Mexico at last, and that even the Emperor may not keep a man from trial." Driscoll's chin lifted eagerly. "Certainly not, but my business with you, sir----" "Not 'sir,'" whispered Jacqueline. "You must call him 'sire.'" Little she cared for etiquette, but she did not propose that Driscoll should broach his errand. Maximilian overheard and smiled. "Yes," he said, "one tiny letter added, and you change a man into a sovereign." Now Jacqueline, for her purposes, had thought to disconcert the man unused to courts. But it struck her at once that nothing of the kind would happen. His easy naturalness was too much a part of him, was the man himself. And she was glad of it. She was glad of the something distinguished which his earnestness gave to the clean-cut stamp of jaw and forehead. He had stopped and looked at them inquiringly, as an eager speaker will when interrupted. Then his brown eyes deepened, and there was a tugging at the corners of his mouth. He seemed to comprehend. If this was their humor, he would play to it. A diplomat must be all things to the people he is after. "'Sire?' W'y," and his drawl was exquisite, "that's what we call the daddy of a horse." Jacqueline turned quickly, clapping her hand over her mouth. Maximilian was always uneasy when Jacqueline did that. "To be sure," he observed affably, "our American friend is not so far wrong. Listen, am I not the father of my people?" The entourage buzzed admiringly at the imperial cleverness; all except Jacqueline, who now that she should laugh and relieve the situation, obstinately pulled a long, blank face. Maximilian's tone changed. He meant to wound now, and did. "So," he added, with chilling stress, "it's 'sire,' if you will be so good as to remember." Driscoll flushed as though struck. He became aware that it was all some patronizing rebuke. "There is one," he answered gently, "who taught me manners at her knee, or tried to, and _she_ never hurt a mortal human being by a word in her life, but that, that, sir, seems to be where _you_ have missed it. Now look here," he went on, kindling in spite of himself, "I respect any man who has grounds--discoverable grounds--for respecting himself, and if you are a man, then 'sir' won't overtop you any." Colonel Lopez of the Dragoons nudged him anxiously. "Don't say 'you'; say 'Your Majesty.'"