predicament grow morose and are likely to quarrel with their eyes before the cigars are passed.  It was Friday, and the whole party had witnessed the drill at Fort Myer that afternoon, with nine girls to listen to their explanation of the manoeuvers and the earliest spring bride for chaperon.  Shirley had been of the party, and somewhat the heroine of it, too, for it was Dick who sat on his horse out in the tanbark with the little whistle to his lips and manipulated the troop.

“Here’s a confusion of tongues; I may need you to interpret,” laughed Dick, indicating a chair at his left; and when Armitage sat down he faced Chauvenet across the round table.

With the first filling of glasses it was found that every one could speak French, and the talk went forward spiritedly.  The discussion of military matters naturally occupied first place, and all were anxious to steer clear of anything that might be offensive to the Spaniard, who had lost a brother at San Juan.  Claiborne thought it wisest to discuss nations that were not represented at the table, and this made it very simple for all to unite in rejecting the impertinent claims of Japan to be reckoned among world powers, and to declare, for the benefit of the Russian attache, that Slav and Saxon must ultimately contend for the earth’s dominion.

Then they fell to talking about individuals, chiefly men in the public eye; and as the Austro-Hungarian embassy was in mourning and unrepresented at the table, the new Emperor-king was discussed with considerable frankness.

“He has not old Stroebel’s right hand to hold him up,” remarked a young German officer.

“Thereby hangs a dark tale,” remarked Claiborne.  “Somebody stuck a knife into Count von Stroebel at a singularly inopportune moment.  I saw him in Geneva two days before he was assassinated, and he was very feeble and seemed harassed.  It gives a man the shudders to think of what might happen if his Majesty, Charles Louis, should go by the board.  His only child died a year ago—­after him his cousin Francis, and then the deluge.”

“Bah!  Francis is not as dark as he’s painted.  He’s the most lied-about prince in Europe,” remarked Chauvenet.  “He would most certainly be an improvement on Charles Louis.  But alas!  Charles Louis will undoubtedly live on forever, like his lamented father.  The King is dead:  long live the King!”

“Nothing can happen,” remarked the German sadly.  “I have lost much money betting on upheavals in that direction.  If there were a man in Hungary it would be different; but riots are not revolutions.”

“That is quite true,” said Armitage quietly.

“But,” observed the Spaniard, “if the Archduke Karl had not gone out of his head and died in two or three dozen places, so that no one is sure he is dead at all, things at Vienna might be rather more interesting.  Karl took a son with him into exile.  Suppose one or the other of them should reappear, stir up strife and incite rebellion—?”