sacred fire" that seems to
inspire patriotism by the suggestion of industry.

Two or three others sat at tables through the room, all so wonderfully
alike in dress, feature, and general appearance, that they almost seemed
reproductions of the same figure by a series of mirrors; but they were
priests of the same "caste," whose forms of thought and expression were
precisely the same; and thus as they dropped their scant remarks on the
topics of the day, there was not an observation or a phrase of one that
might not have fallen from any of the others.

"So," cried one, "they 're going to send the Grand Cross to the Duke of
Hochmaringen. That will be a special mission. I wonder who 'll get it?"

"Cloudesley, I'd say," observed another; "he's always on the watch for
anything that comes into the 'extraordinaries.'"

"It will not be Cloudesley," said a third. "He stayed away a year and
eight months when they sent him to Tripoli, and there was a rare jaw
about it for the estimates."

"Hochmaringen is near Baden, and not a bad place for the summer," said
Culduff. "The duchess, I think, was daughter of the margravine."

"Niece, not daughter," said a stern-looking man, who never turned his
eyes from his newspaper.

"Niece or daughter, it matters little which," said Culduff, irritated
at correction on such a point.

"I protest I 'd rather take a turn in South Africa," cried another,
"than accept one of those missions to Central Germany."

"You 're right, Upton," said a voice from the end of the room; "the
cookery is insufferable."

"And the hours. You retire to bed at ten."

"And the ceremonial. Blounte never threw off the lumbago he got from
bowing at the court of Bratensdorf."

"They 're ignoble sort of things, at the best, and should never be
imposed on diplomatic men. These investitures should always be entrusted
to court functionaries," said Culduff, haughtily. "If I were at the head
of F. O., I'd refuse to charge one of the 'line' with such a mission."

And now something that almost verged on an animated discussion ensued as
to what was and what was not the real province of diplomacy; a majority
inclining to the opinion that it was derogatory to the high dignity of
the calling to meddle with what, at best, was the function of the mere
courtier.

"Is that Culduff driving away in that cab?" cried one, as he stood at
the window.

"He has carried away my hat, I see, by mistake," said another. "What is
he up to