The Yellow Crayon
her fallen cigarette, thrust it defiantly between her teeth.
“Not this way,” she muttered. “From a horse’s back if I can with the air
rushing by, and the hot joy of it in one’s heart... Only I hope it won’t
hurt the poor old gee... Come in, Annette. What a time you’ve been,
child.”
******
The Emperor sent for Mr. Sabin. He declined to recognise his incognito.
“Monsieur le Duc,” he said, “if proof of your story were needed it is
here. The Prince of Saxe Leinitzer has ignored my summons. He has fled
to South America.”
Mr. Sabin bowed.
“A most interesting country,” he murmured, “for the Prince.”
“You yourself are free to go when and where you will. You need no longer
have any fears. The Order does not exist. I have crushed it.”
Mr. Sabin bowed.
“Your Majesty,” he said, “has shown exemplary wisdom.”
“From its inception,” the Emperor said, “I believe that the idea was a
mistaken one. I must confess that its originality pleased me; my calmer
reflections, however, show me that I was wrong. It is not for the nobles
of the earth to copy the methods of socialists and anarchists. These men
are a pest upon humanity, but they may have their good uses. They may
help us to govern alertly, vigorously, always with our eyes and ears
strained to catch the signs of the changing times. Monsieur le Duc,
should you decide to take up your residence in this country I shall at
all times be glad to receive you. But your future is entirely your own.”
Mr. Sabin accepted his dismissal from audience, and went back to
Lucille.
“The Prince,” he told her, “has gone--to South America. The Order does
not exist any longer. Will you dine in Vienna, or in Frankfort?”
She held out her arms.
“You wonderful man!” she cried.