The man of granite spoke soberly. There was no impassioned appeal. He spoke of facts. As a boy I knew something of this terror of Russia. This rugged, hard man was a hero. He played his life not for advancement, but for the good of his country. My heart warmed to him. And, as he said, there was also Ertaria. “I shall go through with it, General,” I said at length. Our hands closed on that; in the winking light of a candle I saw his eyes glitter. He did not speak for a full minute. Then he muttered in a low voice, “If you were only a Borro!” “It would have been fatiguing,” I said. “I should have quarreled with you. There is not room on the throne for two men.” He laughed abruptly at that. The next morning General Hartzel aroused me at an unearthly hour. He made me dress in a steel-corseleted uniform. It was exceedingly gorgeous and stiff with gold lace. “It is the uniform of the Colonel of the Royal Guards,” he told me. “Promotion is rapid in Ertaria,” I said. “I was an unconsidered subaltern in our Blues.” “The army is reviewed today on the Plain of Liberty,” he said, “by Prince Tertourgki. He is regent during your absence.” “And the second cousin?” “Is his aide-de-camp—Prince Otho. The Russian Minister will be there.” “And his august name?” I demanded. “Baron Ivaniski.” “My dear General!” I cried. “There is a saying, ‘The luck of the Havenseas.’ The luck holds good. The Russian Bear shall dance, I promise you!” “What does Your Majesty mean?” “His Majesty knows a story, General, a pretty, ornate and most scandalous story. Ivaniski was an attaché at Berlin when my uncle was Ambassador. It will be the only good turn Uncle John has ever done me.” For two mortal hours after a particularly disappointing breakfast—the General betrayed but an indifferent regard to cuisine—I was gracious to the peculiarly uninteresting big men of Tsalburg. I signed innumerable papers, and at a hint from the General kissed those worthy of the honor. It afforded them far more satisfaction than it did me. At noon I mounted a black charger, and, accompanied only by the General, set out for the Plain of Liberty. Hartzel had misled—to use a euphemism—the populace as to my movements, so that it was merely at odd whiles that I was called upon to acknowledge shouts of greeting. The Plain of Liberty is a tableland upon the hill that rises above the town. From it Tsalburg can be seen spread out in picturesque confusion. It is a big plain, and its name is derived from the presence in its centre of a huge column surmounted by a figure of Liberty. On the base of this column are inscribed the names of the more or less traditional heroes who are popularly supposed to have engineered the independence of the country. This column has become a subject of sentimental worship with the nation.