The Count was not slow to take advantage of his permis de circuler; his coal-black horses and coach were soon a familiar spectacle in the streets of Eswareinmal, where he had discovered the delights of promiscuous shopping. He ordered a self-supplying dinner-table of the best quality—to be paid for by monthly instalments—from the Astrologer Royal, with whom he struck up a sort of friendship. Nor did he neglect to avail himself of his general invitation to the Palace, where he dropped in so frequently as almost to justify Clarence's prediction. Queen Selina gave him occasional hints that she had not expected him quite so often, but hints were thrown away on the Count's ingenuous nature—he seemed to take it for granted that he was always welcome.

Princess Edna certainly never discouraged his visits. She had been struck from the first by his great stature and powerful physique, which were just what she imagined that Nietzsche's ideal Superman would possess. It has already been mentioned that she had been attending lectures on the Nietzschean philosophy.

Those were the days—not so very long ago, though they seem remote enough now—when a certain class of high-browed and serious persons accepted works of modern German philosophers as containing a new gospel which none who desired intellectual freedom, enlightenment, and efficiency could afford to neglect. The theories of "the Will to Power" and of Might being equivalent to Right are already hopelessly discredited in this country by recent exhibitions of the way in which they work out in practice. But it was not so then, and Edna, who liked to feel that she was one of the elect and in the advance guard of Culture, readily imbibed as much of the Nietzschean doctrine as could be boiled down for her in a single lecture. She would not, of course, have thought of regulating her own actions on such principles, any more than, in all probability, did their author himself. But she was very anxious to see some one else do so, and the young Count seemed to have been formed by Nature for Nietzsche's typical "Blond Beast," if he only chose to divulge his possibilities. Unfortunately, he did not seem even to suspect them; he remained quite oppressively mild and amiable. She very nearly gave him up in despair once when he timidly presented her with a pair of mittens which he had knitted for her himself. However, a day came when she saw him under a less discouraging aspect.

They were at lunch, to which he had invited himself as usual, and Ruby had asked her brother how it was that in all his hunting expeditions he had never managed to slay a dragon.

"Never saw one to slay, Kiddie," he replied. "They seem scarce about here."

The Court Chamberlain, from behind the King's chair, took it upon himself to explain that there were no longer any dragons in existence, the few that remained having been exterminated by the late King's orders.

"Oh!" exclaimed Ruby, "I did so want to see a dragon! And now I never shall!"

"If you wish it, little Princess," said Count von Rubenfresser kindly, "you shall see mine."

"Yours!" cried Ruby, quite forgetting her dislike for him in her excitement. "Have you really got a dragon—a real live one?"

"A real live one—and almost full-grown," he replied. "My poor dear Father had a pair, but they were killed. Mine is the last of the breed. I discovered it myself when I was a child in a cave close to the castle. At that time it was only an egg."

"Hatch it yourself?" inquired Clarence.

"Only partially," said the young Count; "the sun did the rest." (It was perhaps as well for Daphne that she was not at the table just then.) "I begged that its life might be spared, and it was. So TÜtzi and I have grown up together."

"Tootsie!" remarked Clarence sotto voce, "what a dashed silly-ass name for a dragon!"

"And will you show us him?" asked Ruby eagerly. "Mummy, couldn't we go to the Count's castle and see his dragon? This afternoon?"

"I should rather like to see it myself," said her Father. "No idea there were such things. What do you say to our driving back with the Count and having a look at it, eh, my love?"

"I think, Sidney," replied the Queen, "we certainly ought to do so."

So, to Ruby's delight, the State coach was ordered to take the Royal Family to Drachenstolz, and the party set out shortly after lunch. Clarence accompanied them on horseback, while the Count followed in his sombre vehicle. Daphne was left behind, and the Court, although invited to join the party, begged with singular unanimity that they might be excused.

On arriving at the Castle the visitors were first taken over the interior, which was ill-lighted and rather depressing, after which the Count led them through a spacious courtyard to the kitchen-garden, where the Queen deigned to compliment him on the huge size of the vegetable marrows and pumpkins that were ripening in the sun.

"If there should be a Harvest Festival at the Church, Count," she said graciously, "I'm sure some of those would come in very nicely for it!"

They then passed over a rough tract of ground towards a rocky cliff that formed part of the Castle boundary. In this cliff was a deep cavern, on one side of which was a stout staple with a chain attached, only a portion of which was visible. Here their young host stopped and gave a low whistle. Instantly there was a rattle of the chain, and the next moment all but the Count and Ruby hastily retreated as a great horny head with distended nostrils and lidless eyes was protruded from the opening.

"Don't be alarmed!" said the Count, calmly unfastening the chain and leading the creature out into the open. "TÜtzi is perfectly tame, as you can see."

It may or may not have been full-grown, but it was large enough at all events to be a fairly fearful wildfowl, with its huge leathery wings, crested spine, formidable talons, and restless tail. The colour of its scales was extraordinarily rich, ranging from deepest purple and azure through vivid green to orange and pale yellow, and fully justified King Sidney in remarking—from a safe distance—that "it appeared to be in very good condition."

But there was no doubt about its tameness. It suffered Ruby, who showed no fear of it whatever, to stroke it on its plated beak, and even to scratch it behind its bristly ears, with every sign of satisfaction.

"Ruby!" shrieked the horrified Queen, "come away at once! I'm sure it isn't safe to tease that dreadful thing!"

"I'm not teasing him, Mummy," replied Ruby, whose eccentric penchant for reptiles was now being gratified beyond her wildest dreams. "He loves being tickled. Can't you hear him purring?"

As the noise the brute was making would have drowned that of the most powerful dynamo, the question was almost unnecessary. Count Ruprecht next made his dragon exhibit the few accomplishments it had learnt, which were of the simplest, consisting in sitting up, rolling over and shamming death, and reviving to utter three terrific snorts, supposed to be loyal cheers, all at the proper word of command. He concluded by mounting its back and riding it several times round the enclosure, after which he lay between its forepaws, while it licked his face with its huge flickering forked tongue.

"Capital!" cried Clarence, apparently unimpressed, though he did not venture very near the beast. "You've only to teach it to jump through a hoop, and you'd make quite a decent Music-hall 'turn' together. What do you feed it on, eh? Sop—or canary-seed?"

To which the Count did not vouchsafe any reply.

"I've been most interested, I'm sure, my dear Count," said the Queen, after he had chained it up again. "And it's quite a thing to have seen—once. But we really can't allow you to go on keeping such a creature as that—can we, Sidney?"

"Certainly not, my love," said the King. "It's against the law, you know, Count, against the law."

"Is it, your Majesty?" said the Count. "I—I had no idea of that—no one ever told me so!"

"Well, it is, you know. You must put an end to it—have it destroyed. Painlessly, if you like, but—well, you've got to get rid of it somehow."

"In your own interest, Count," urged the Queen. "Just think how unpopular you would be with your neighbours if it broke loose!"

"I should not like to be unpopular," he said. "And if your Majesties insist on slaying the only living creature that loves me——!"

"What?" put in Clarence unfeelingly, "don't the hearse—I mean the carriage-horses love you?"

But again the Count took no notice of the question.

"It's too bad of you, Father!" cried Edna indignantly; "yes, and you too, Mother! To come here at Count Ruprecht's invitation, to see his dragon and then tell him to destroy it! I think it perfectly disgraceful of you, and you will get a very bad name in the country when people hear of it. When you happen to be Sovereigns you might at least behave as such!"

"Well, well, my dear," said her Mother, who had not considered the question from this side before, "we merely threw it out as a suggestion—nothing more. And if the Count will undertake to keep his dragon under proper control, that is all we shall require of him."

The Count willingly gave this undertaking, and the visit ended without any loss of cordiality on either side.

"We've seen the dragon, Miss Heritage!" Ruby announced with sparkling eyes on her return. "And he is such a darling! Do you know, I don't think the Count can be quite so horrid after all, or TÜtzi wouldn't be fond of him. Only fancy, Mums and Daddy wanted the Count to have him killed! But Edna made them say he needn't. Aren't you glad?... Oh, I forgot—you never really loved my newts. But you would TÜtzi—he's quite dry, you know—not the least bit clammy.... Do you think there's time before dinner for me to run down and play with the Gnomes?"

"My dearest!" cried Daphne, "surely your Mother doesn't approve of your doing that?"

"She wouldn't mind if she knew. They're yellow—but quite nice. Much better fun than those fat little muffs of pages, who are too afraid of spoiling their clothes to play at anything rough. You don't mind my having a game of 'I spy' with the Gnomes—just till it's time to dress for dinner—do you, Miss Heritage?"

"Well, darling," said Daphne, "I'm not allowed any authority over you now, you know. But I'm quite sure that if her Majesty ever hears of your running about with Yellow Gnomes, she will blame me for it, and probably send me away."

"Oh, then I won't any more. Only it will be rather dull without them. I almost wish sometimes I had lessons to do. But there's nothing for me to learn. I can understand everything everybody says, and they understand me. And there aren't any pianos, and History and Geography are no earthly good here, and I know more Arithmetic as it is than I shall ever want now I'm a Princess. Princess Flachspinnenlos promised to show me how to work a spinning-wheel some day, but she's not very good at it herself, and anyhow, I'm sure it will be frightfully boring. Still, I'd rather give up the Gnomes than lose you, Miss Heritage, dearest!"

She spoke with feeling, for it meant abandoning a cherished scheme of hers for inciting them to steal up during dinner and pinch the pages' legs.

Daphne was sorry for the poor little tomboy Princess, of whom she had grown to be really fond. There was little she could do for her, however, beyond being with her as often as she could; and the Queen had shown a tendency of late to discourage even this.

Edna looked forward with interest to the Count's next visit; his performances with the dragon had impressed her greatly in his favour, and she had begun to think that he might have the makings of a Superman in him after all. It might be time to begin his education, and she prepared herself for the task by running through her lecture notes on Nietzsche once more.

When he called he was shown by her command to the chamber which served as her boudoir, where, rather to the scandal of some of the Court ladies, she received him in private.

He looked taller than ever as he sat doubled up on a low seat. "I came to thank you, Princess," he began, "for persuading your exalted parents to spare my poor dear TÜtzi. Of course I don't want to break the law, but he is chained up, and besides, he is such a good dragon that I'm sure nobody could object to my keeping him."

"Why are you so anxious not to break the law?"

"Because it's wrong to break laws."

"And do you never do anything wrong?"

"Never. My tutors taught me that people who do wrong are always punished for it. I shouldn't like to be punished at all."

"Still, you must have wanted to do bad things now and then."

"Now and then I have," he confessed. "Especially lately. But I never do them. You see, bad people are never really liked."

"Do you know, Count, what the great German philosopher Nietzsche would call such goodness as yours? He would say it was 'slave-morality.' You only do what other people tell you is right because you're afraid of what they would think of you if you didn't. You have courage enough to master TÜtzi, but you daren't defy what Nietzsche so finely terms 'the Great Dragon of the Law,' which says: 'Thou shalt'—'Thou shalt not.'"

"What?" he said in surprise. "Is there another dragon besides TÜtzi? And one that can talk, too! I never heard of him!"

"Nietzsche was speaking metaphorically, of course," said Edna impatiently. "He meant the human laws and customs and prejudices which a true Superman should soar above. I think you ought to be more of a Superman."

"Ought I?" he said, open-mouthed. "What sort of things does a—one of those gentlemen—do?"

"Well," said Edna, after refreshing her memory by her notes, "you should begin by 'hating and despising the ideals of the average man'! You should create your own Truth—your own Morality. Obey only your primordial instincts—the Will to Power."

"I wonder if I could do all that."

"Of course you can, if you are strong enough—and I believe you are."

"And what else ought I to do, Princess?"

"Well, let me see—oh, yes, you should 'act towards slave or stranger exactly as you think fit.' You should be 'an intrepid experimentalist, ceaselessly looking for new forms of existence.' You must 'be able to bear the sight of others' pain, remembering that you cannot attain the height of greatness——'"

"I've grown taller lately," he interjected, "a great deal taller; haven't you noticed it?"

"'Attain the height of greatness,'" resumed Edna severely, "if you do not feel within yourself both the will and the power to inflict great suffering! And 'through it all you must exhibit the joyous innocence of a child that is amusing itself.' Do you understand?"

"I think I do. It means I must do whatever I feel inclined, without minding what people say. Shall you be pleased with me, Princess, if I do that?"

"I shall at least respect you more than I can do while you form your conduct entirely on Sunday School standards."

"Then I'll try," he said. "Yes, I will certainly try. Do you know, I think I shall rather like being what your great teacher with a name like a sneeze calls a Superman."

"Then make yourself one," she said, "for I am quite sure that you have the power."

Probably she did not know herself exactly what she wanted him to be; it did not mean much more than the admiration for the prehistoric male brute to which the more advanced type of young woman seems peculiarly prone. But when he left she felt that she had made a most promising convert, and had every reason to be satisfied with the success of her afternoon.

As much could not be said with regard to her Mother, who remonstrated with her after the Count's departure as strongly as she dared.

"I shouldn't see him alone like that, again, my love," she said anxiously. "It might put ideas into people's heads. Indeed I'm not sure that, as it is, some of the Court don't think there must be something between you."

"It's perfectly indifferent to me what they think, Mother," was the lofty reply. "As a matter of fact, there is nothing whatever between us. I am merely doing what I can to make him a little more civilised."

"There would be no objection to that, my dear. Only it does look so very like encouraging him, you know. And it's so necessary to be careful just now. I'm afraid the People think we are making far too much of that young man. I noticed they looked very black that day we drove over to Drachenstolz. I really think it would be better if the next time he calls you would be 'not at home' to him."

"My dear Mother," returned Edna, "I am old enough to have the right to choose my own friends, and I shall certainly decline to drop them just because the Court chooses to make my friendships a subject for foolish gossip."

Queen Selina did not venture to pursue the conversation any farther, but she was more relieved than she would once have thought possible when she heard that the Court Godmother had returned from Clairdelune. According to strict etiquette, it was for the Fairy to attend her Mistress and report herself, but the Queen waived all ceremony by paying the first visit. She went at once, and unattended, to the apartments in one of the towers that had been assigned to the Court Godmother, who, without seeming at all overwhelmed by such condescension, received her with more benignity than usual. "Thank you, my dear," she said, in answer to the Queen's inquiries, "I am tolerably well, and feel no ill effects from my journey. And I think," she added complacently, "you will agree that I have spent my time at Clairdelune not altogether unprofitably. But you shall hear all about it presently. Tell me how things have been going on here while I have been away. As satisfactorily, I trust, as possible?"

"Oh, quite—quite—that is, I've been just a little worried lately about that young Count Rubenfresser. He has taken to coming here oftener than I think quite desirable."

"Coming here?" repeated the Fairy, with surprise. "Why, I thought he was never allowed outside his Castle!"

"Not till lately. My poor dear Grandfather seems to have been very severe both on him and his parents. But the Marshal spoke so highly of the poor young man, and recommended so strongly that he should be given his freedom, that his Majesty and I decided to do it."

"Oh," said the Fairy. "Well, of course, if the Marshal thinks it safe!" She suspected the ex-Regent of cherishing some resentment against her still for the part she had taken in bringing back the Sovereigns to supersede him, and she had no wish to run counter to him again. So, whatever she might think of the wisdom of his advice, she was far too prudent an old person to express her doubts. "But I gather," she went on, "that you don't approve of the young Count yourself, my dear?"

"Oh, he seems gentlemanly enough—though rather taller than the average. The only reason that I disapprove of him is that I'm afraid he comes here so often on Edna's account."

"You don't mean," said the Court Godmother, in some alarm, "that she shows any——?"

"Oh, dear me, no! Not the slightest! She thinks he requires civilising, and is trying to do it for him, that's all. But I can't get her to see that the notice she takes of him is liable to be misunderstood. Not only by him—but by everybody, you know."

"Oh well, my dear, if it's no worse than that, you needn't trouble yourself about it. And now for my news. You've heard me speak of Prince Mirliflor of Clairdelune, King Tournesol's only son?"

Queen Selina had heard her speak of him so often that she instinctively prepared herself for half an hour of ennui.

"A charming young man. I don't say he hasn't his faults, but I shall make it my business to cure him of them all in time. I was one of the three Godmothers at his christening—the other two have gone years ago—I forget what their gifts were—Courage and Good-looks, I think. I gave him what I still consider a most useful present for any infant prince—a complete set of the highest ideals."

"How nice!" murmured Queen Selina absently, for her attention was beginning to wander already. "Most neat and appropriate, I'm sure."

"They would have been," said the old Fairy, "if he'd made use of them sensibly, as I intended. But that is just what he hasn't done. For instance, although he's been of an age to marry these three years, he's refused to look at every eligible Princess that has been suggested to him because, if you please, she doesn't happen to come up to his ideal of beauty!"

"Dear me," said the Queen, concealing a yawn, "you don't say so, Court Godmother!"

"My dear," said the Fairy irritably, "it's nonsense to tell me I don't say what I've just said! And, as I was about to tell you, his conduct caused the greatest disappointment and annoyance to his father, who is naturally anxious that his line should not die out. So he begged me to use my influence. Well, I saw, of course, that the only way was to appeal to another of the ideals I had given him—his ideal of Duty. I put it to him that he owed it not only to his father, but his country, to choose a bride without any further shilly-shallying."

"And what did he say?" asked the Queen, with more interest, as she had begun to see what was coming.

"Don't be in such a hurry," said the Fairy; "I haven't finished what I said yet. I told him that personal beauty was of very little consequence in a bride, and that what he needed was a sensible girl who would be clever enough to keep him from having too high an opinion of himself—which, I may say, has always been one of his failings. I added that your Edna was just the very person for him."

"How kind of you to put in a word for her!" said Queen Selina. "And—was it any good?"

"So much so that, to his father's great joy, he recognised that it was his imperative duty to seek the hand of such a paragon of wisdom and learning. And I am empowered by him to prepare you for his arrival in the course of a day or two, in the character of the Princess Royal's suitor. So you see," she concluded, "I haven't been at Clairdelune all this time for nothing."

"Indeed you have not, dear Court Godmother; and I'm most grateful, I'm sure, for all the trouble you must have taken. Fancy our Edna the Queen of Clairdelune some day! Not that she isn't fitted for any position. How pleased she will be when she hears of this, dear thing! So will his Majesty—and Clarence too! He and dear Prince Mirliflor will be able to go out hunting together. For—I forgot to tell you—since you have deserted us, Clarence has learnt to ride most beautifully!"

"Has he indeed?" said the Fairy. "Then I was right after all. I thought it just possible that, if you could persuade him to wear that jewel——"

"Do you mean that pendant of mine? He does wear it, but that has nothing whatever to do with his riding. He'd taught himself to ride long before I gave it to him. He was only pretending he couldn't, as a joke."

"He may say so, my dear—but, all the same, if it hadn't been for that jewel——"

"Really, Court Godmother," said Queen Selina, who naturally resented anything that detracted from her son's credit, "it astonishes me to find anyone so—so clear-headed as you are in most things still clinging to these superstitious ideas. As if the mere fact of wearing a piece of jewellery could suddenly make anyone into a good rider!"

"It depends upon what the piece of jewellery is," said the Fairy.

Queen Selina saw her way to an absolutely crushing rejoinder. "Well, this particular piece of jewellery," she said, "happens to be a paltry ornament which I bought from Miss Heritage before I ever heard of MÄrchenland."

Her shot had certainly told. "What?" faltered the Court Godmother, obviously out of countenance. "Did I understand you to say you bought that jewel—and from the Lady Daphne?"

"I prefer to call her Miss Heritage—the other is merely a courtesy title. Yes, I did buy it from her. She was in difficulties at the time, and I gave her thirty pounds for it, which was a good deal more than anybody else would have done."

"And—and—have you told this to any other person—the—the Marshal, for instance?"

"My dear Court Godmother, I am not in the habit of proclaiming my acts of charity—for it was an act of charity!"

"An act of charity," said the Fairy drily, "which I should strongly advise you to keep to yourself."

"I intend to," replied the Queen, as she rose with much dignity, though her face was redder than usual. "I should never have mentioned it at all, even to you, Court Godmother, if I hadn't felt it necessary. Of course, in my present position, I should never dream of buying jewellery from one of my own ladies-in-waiting. But it was different then. I hadn't come into my Kingdom, and Miss Heritage was only my governess; and anyway, it was a perfectly fair bargain, so my conscience is absolutely clear. Still," she added, turning on the threshold, "perhaps you will admit now that you were just a little mistaken in attaching any importance to wearing that pendant?"

"Yes," said the Fairy, completely crestfallen and subdued, "I made a mistake—a great mistake—I admit that."

"I thought you would!" returned the Queen triumphantly. "And now I must go to dear Edna and tell her the news about Prince Mirliflor."

She had no suspicion of the state of mind in which, by her unconscious revelation, she was leaving the unhappy Court Godmother, who was so stunned that it was some time before she could think out the situation at all clearly.

The present Sovereigns of MÄrchenland, it seemed, were nothing but impostors! Innocent impostors, no doubt—but that did not lessen her own responsibility for helping to place them on the throne. If she made the truth known, would the people—worse still, would the ex-Regent—believe that she and the Baron and the Astrologer Royal had not been deceiving them from the first? She recognised now that they had been too ready to accept the wearer of Prince Chrysopras's jewelled badge as the sought-for Queen without some further inquiry—and yet who in all MÄrchenland would have dreamed of making any? How could anyone have supposed that Queen Selina had merely become the possessor of the jewel by purchasing it from that little Lady Daphne? It seemed to follow that Lady Daphne must be the true Queen. The Fairy remembered now that she had taken her to be so at their first meeting. If only she had thought then of asking a question or two, the mistake might have been discovered before matters had gone too far—but, in her unfortunate anxiety to see a legitimate sovereign ruling MÄrchenland once more she had taken everything for granted. How could she put it right now without appearing either a traitress to the Kingdom, or at least a foolish old Fairy who ought to have known her own business better? That was a bitter reflection for an autocratic dame who had long been accustomed to consider that age and experience had endowed her with a wisdom which was absolutely infallible.

There was just one faint hope to which she clung. She had been mistaken once—why should she not be mistaken again? Lady Daphne might herself have bought the pendant from some third person. In that case she would have no better claim to the throne than Queen Selina, and matters could be left as they were—which would relieve the Fairy of the unpleasant necessity of having to admit that she was liable to error.

She could not rest till she knew more, and so, as soon as she felt equal to any action, she took her crutch-handled staff, hobbled down the winding steps, and then up more stairs and along a succession of corridors, until she reached the door of the chamber she had been told was Daphne's.

"I shall know very soon now!" she told herself. "And, after all, there's nothing to be uneasy about. Whoever this girl may be, it's most unlikely that she will turn out to be any relation of poor Chrysopras'."

But, in spite of these reassurances, it was a very tremulous hand that rapped at the door, and the Court Godmother's heart sank as she heard a clear sweet voice inviting her to enter.

It would have been such a relief, just then, to find that Daphne was not in her room.