An awed silence fell upon the group. To Clarence, who had dictated the
matter (though the style was the editor's), the paragraph did not come
as a surprise. His only feeling was one of relief that the editor had
served up his material so well. He felt that he had been justified in
leaving the more delicate literary work to that master-hand.

"That'll be one in the eye," said the Zouave Harry. "'Ere, I'll stick
it up opposite of him when he comes back to dress. Got a pin and a
pencil, some of you?"

He marked the quarter column heavily, and pinned it up beside the
looking-glass. Then he turned to his companions.

"'Ow about not waiting, chaps?" he suggested. "I shouldn't 'arf wonder,
from the look of him, if he wasn't the 'aughty kind of a feller who'd
cleave you to the bazooka for tuppence with his bloomin' falchion. I'm
goin' to 'urry through with my dressing and wait till to-morrow night
to see how he looks. No risks for Willie!"

The suggestion seemed thoughtful and good. The Bounding Zouaves, with
one accord, bounded into their clothes and disappeared through the door
just as a long-drawn chord from the invisible orchestra announced the
conclusion of the Grand Duke's turn.

General Vodkakoff strutted into the room, listening complacently to the
applause which was still going on. He had gone well. He felt pleased
with himself.

It was not for a moment that he noticed Clarence.