he idea that a word from the sovereign's lips or the contact of his
person is sufficient to cure his subjects, is a very ancient and
beautiful one," said the colonel. "Before he started distributing
ribbons, the King used to cure scrofula. That excellent custom,
however, came to an end with William of Orange, who used to say to
the patient while he was operating, 'God give you better health and
more sense!'"

"The King's taboo has also disappeared," said the doctor.

"I can assure you," said Aurelle, "that his taboo is still effective.
On the platform before he arrived there were three A.P.M.'s bustling
about and chasing away the few spectators. As the train came into
the station one of them ran up to me and said, 'Are you the
interpreter on duty? Well, there's a seedy-looking chap over
there, who seems up to no good. Go and tell him from me that if he
doesn't clear out immediately I'll have him arrested.' I did so.
'Arrest me!' said the man. 'Why, I'm the special _commissaire de
police_ entrusted with the King's safety.'"

* * * * *

"Well, Messiou," inquired the general, "have you brought me back any
new records from Paris for my gramophone?"

Aurelle unstrapped his kit and proceeded, not without some anxiety,
to unpack "Le Prelude a l'Apres-midi d'un Faune."

"I don't know whether you'll like it, sir; it's modern French music."

"I'm sure it's very fine, Messiou," said the general confidently. And
in the interest of international courtesy he immediately assumed
the beatific expression he usually kept for Caruso.

After the first few notes, an air of bewilderment appeared upon his
kindly face. He looked at Aurelle, whom he was surprised to find
quite unmoved; at Colonel Parker, who was hard at work; at the
doctor, who was inclining his head and listening devoutly; and,
resigning himself to his fate, he waited for the end of the
acidulated and discordant noises.

"Well, Messiou," he said when it was over, "it's very nice of you not
to have forgotten us--but----"

"Yes," put in Colonel Parker, looking up, "but I'm damned if it's
music!"

"What?" shouted the doctor, scandalized. "A masterpiece like that?
Not music?"

"Come, come," said the general soothingly, "maybe it wasn't written
for the gramophone. But, doctor, I should like you to explain."

"Have you seen the Russian Ballet, sir? The faun, lying on a rock, is
watching for the nymphs and playing in a monotonous key on his flute.
At last they