The Puppet Crown by Harold MacGrath
page 11 of 460 (02%)
page 11 of 460 (02%)
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"Will you have a dahlia, Monsieur?" With a grave air she selected a flower and slipped it through his button-hole. "Does your Highness know the language of the flowers?" the Englishman asked. "Dahlias signify dignity and elegance; you are dignified, Monsieur, and dignity is elegance." "Well!" cried the Englishman, smiling with pleasure; "that is turned as adroitly as a woman of thirty." "And am I not to have one?" asked the king, his eyes full of paternal love and pride. "They are for your Majesty's table," she answered. "Your Majesty!" cried the king in mimic despair. "Was ever a father treated thus? Your Majesty! Do you not know, my dear, that to me 'father' is the grandest title in the world?" Suddenly she crossed over and kissed the king on the cheek, and he held her to him for a moment. The bulldog had risen, and was wagging his tail the best he knew how. If there was any young woman who could claim his unreserved admiration, it was the Princess Alexia. She never talked nonsense to him in their rambles together, but treated him as he should be treated, as an animal of enlightenment. |
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