"I regret to inform your majesty that the enemy is upon us," he said.
"I fear that our retreat is cut off. Nothing remains save--"
"She has arrived?" cried the Prince eagerly.
"She has," said the Baron. "Bag and baggage, and armed to the eyes.
Each eye is a gatling-gun, each lip a lunette behind which lies an
unconquerable legion of smiles and rows of ivory bayonets, each ear a
hardy spy, and every nut-brown strand a covetous dastard on the
warpath not for a scalp but for a crown. Napoleon was never so well
prepared for battle as she, nor Troy so firmly fortified. Yes,
highness, the foe is at our gates. We must to arms!"
"Where is she?" demanded Robin, unimpressed by this glowing
panegyric.
"At this instant, sir, I fancy she is rallying her forces in the very
face of a helpless mirror. In other words, she is preparing for the
fray. She is dressing."
"The devil! How dare you pry into the secret--"
"Abhorrent thought! I deduce, nothing more. Her maid loses herself in
the halls while attempting to respond to the call for re-inforcements.
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