Then, before Prince Soudaroff’s witticism had time to grow stale by repetition, and when the papers, having made the most of the sensation afforded by the medical evidence as to the cause of the secretary’s death, were beginning to hunt for a fresh topic of interest, there came a rush of events which swept the “Balkan mystery” clean out of men’s minds. Just at first it was remembered sufficiently for Prince Soudaroff’s friends to say among themselves, with exquisite glee, that if he had his secrets from the Emperor, the Emperor clearly kept one or two things secret from him. But as Prince Soudaroff only looked wise and said nothing in public, the world in general thought he had known of the matter all along, little guessing the gnashing of teeth and tearing of hair which had taken place in certain chancelleries, that of Scythia not excepted, when the news came. There was a revolution--the fifth, if minor outbreaks are left out of the calculation--in Neustria. This new revolution was the crowning glory of its kind. Other revolutions had been bungled at their inception, or had dragged on for several years before they could fairly be considered successful, but this one seemed to have been born full-grown. One night Prince Timoleon Malasorte was a casual sojourner in a Lutetian hotel, so little thought of as a political personage that the police either were not aware of his arrival in the forbidden capital, or winked at it. The next night he was master of the army, and by its means of every fortress in the country, master of the ecclesiastical system, and through it of the women of Neustria, master also of the national purse-strings. The whole thing came about with almost the suddenness of a transformation scene. It was never known publicly when and how the idea of the revolution had taken shape, or how long the astutest minds in Europe had toiled by devious and underground paths to prepare its way; all that was certain was that one morning the city was white and purple with unauthorised proclamations, posted in all sorts of forbidden places. The police tore them down, only to find that whatever way they turned, fresh bills were posted behind their backs, and while they did their confused best to keep pace with the bill-stickers, a drastic “Pride’s Purge” was being administered at the centre of parliamentary life. The Senate and the Chamber of Deputies were found to be surrounded by troops, and the alarmed legislators saw their sacred precincts invaded by armed men, headed by--as it seemed to their startled eyes--the counterfeit presentment of Timoleon I. Without giving them time to recover from their surprise, the new Timoleon informed them that he had assumed the office of Dictator in order to save the country from the evils menacing it, and announced a dissolution. Before even the most violent deputy could raise his voice in protest, soldiers were filing down the alleys between the rows of seats, and arresting one man here and another there.