So it happened that these gentlemen were coming to-night to give their
aid to us in moving the priceless eggs, and lend their countenance and
enthusiastic support to the young Countess in her maiden effort.

Sir Peter Grebe arrived first, all covered with orders and
decorations, and greeted us affectionately, calling the Countess the
"sweetest lass in France," and me his undutiful Yankee cousin who had
landed feet foremost at the expense of the British Empire.

The King of Finland, the Crown-Prince, and Baron de Becasse arrived
together, a composite mass of medals, sashes, and academy palms. To
see them moving boxes about, straightening chairs, and pulling out
rugs reminded me of those golden-embroidered gentlemen who run out
into the arena and roll up carpets after the acrobats have finished
their turn in the Nouveau Cirque.

I was aiding the King of Finland to move a heavy keg of nails, when
the Countess called out to me in alarm, saying that the thermometers
had dropped to 80° Fahrenheit.

I spoke sharply to the plumbers, who were standing in a circle behind
the dressing-rooms; but they answered sullenly that they could do no
more work that day.

Indignant and alarmed, I ordered them to come out to the stage, and,
after some hesitation, they filed out, a sulky, silent lot of workmen,
with their tools already gathered up and tied in their kits. At once I
noticed that a new man had appeared among them--a red-faced, stocky
man wearing a frock-coat and a shiny silk hat.