"Why did you hesitate, if it’s so easy?" demanded the War Lord.
"With Your Majesty’s permission, I was wondering whether it was your pleasure to have a cross placed against all the ’k’s’ on the map."
The War Lord looked at von Bülow, who dismissed Kast by a look.
"Out of the mouths of fools and sucklings," misquoted Wilhelm under his breath, while a cruel sneer played about his lips. Then, to the Chancellor, aloud: "Inborn stupidity or low cunning?"—referring to Kast.
"The first, Your Majesty, the first. Your Majesty will agree, when I say that I myself do not see the significance of the cross."
"You will—in time," said the War Lord brusquely. "But to continue."
He took a German flag and placed it on the spot marked Rome. "The Holy Roman Empire of German nationality," he said.
"Which Voltaire designated as neither holy, nor Roman, nor an Empire," remarked von Bülow drily.
"Time’s passed, time was, time is," quoted the War Lord, "or rather will be." For awhile he remained in silent reverie, then turned upon the Chancellor suddenly. "You asked the other day how to mark the English Channel. _Gott!_ it’s worth five million men to Edward. No, don’t mark it at all; for if the distance between Calais and Dover can be bridged only half-way by our guns—no impossibility, you know—that strip of water won’t amount to more than a few army corps."
Again the War Lord remained in deep thought. "Noah’s ark," he demanded after a while.
The Chancellor pulled out a drawer at the side of the _Kriegsspiel_ table. "At Your Majesty’s service." The War Lord picked figure after figure, dropping them on the floor, until he got hold of a small white object.
He held it between two fingers, eyeing it curiously; then moved it deliberately across the Channel, holding it aloft, and planted it on the spot marked "London."
"The Dove of Peace," he said; "for in London we will dictate peace to the world. Tell Franz."
A Gallop with the Crown Prince—On the Way to Surprise
DEAR FRANZ,—When I promised to write, I expected to put a school-girl’s ability at composition to the test, being half afraid that my description of Berlin and the Court might not pass muster with so severe a critic as my dear half-brother. But something has happened that makes living in the shadow of the throne and royal intimacies and reviews and State balls, even the Grand Council of the Knights of the Black Eagle, look insignificant.