"But that's why we called you in!" exclaimed the Countess. "Can't you
fix things securely?"

"Oh, we'll fix things, lady," replied the plumber, condescendingly,
and he ambled away to rub his thumb up and down a pipe.

As we alone were unable to move and handle the enormous eggs, the
Countess, whose sweet character was a stranger to vindictiveness or
petty resentment, had written to the members of the ornithological
committee, revealing the marvellous fortune which had crowned her
efforts in the search for evidence to sustain her theory concerning
the ux, and inviting these gentlemen to aid her in displaying the
great eggs to the assembled congress.

This she had done the night previous. Every one of the gentlemen
invited had come post-haste to her "hotel," to view the eggs with
their own sceptical and astonished eyes; and the fair young Countess
and I tasted our first triumph in her cellar, whither we conducted Sir
Peter Grebe, the Crown-Prince of Monaco, Baron de Becasse, and his
Majesty King Christian of Finland.

Scepticism and incredulity gave place to excitement and unbounded
enthusiasm. The old King embraced the Countess; Baron de Becasse
attempted to kiss me; Sir Peter Grebe made a handsome apology for his
folly and vowed that he would do open penance for his sins. The poor
Crown-Prince, who was of a nervous temperament, sat on the
cellar-stairs and wept like a child.

His grief at his own pig-headedness touched us all profoundly.