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<h2> IV. VISCOUNTESS OLIVE </h2> The Penguins had the finest army in the world. So had the Porpoises. And it was the same with the other nations of Europe. The smallest amount of thought will prevent any surprise at this. For all armies are the finest in the world. The second finest army, if one could exist, would be in a notoriously inferior position; it would be certain to be beaten. It ought to be disbanded at once. Therefore, all armies are the finest in the world. In France the illustrious Colonel Marchand understood this when, before the passage of the Yalou, being questioned by some journalists about the Russo-Japanese war, he did not hesitate to describe the Russian army as the finest in the world, and also the Japanese. And it should be noticed that even after suffering the most terrible reverses an army does not fall from its position of being the finest in the world. For if nations ascribe their victories to the ability of their generals and the courage of their soldiers, they always attribute their defeats to an inexplicable fatality. On the other hand, navies are classed according to the number of their ships. There is a first, a second, a third, and so on. So that there exists no doubt as to the result of naval wars. The Penguins had the finest army and the second navy in the world. This navy was commanded by the famous Chatillon, who bore the title of Emiralbahr, and by abbreviation Emiral. It is the same word which, unfortunately in a corrupt form, is used to-day among several European nations to designate the highest grade in the naval service. But as there was but one Emiral among the Penguins, a singular prestige, if I dare say so, was attached to that rank. The Emiral did not belong to the nobility. A child of the people, he was loved by the people. They were flattered to see a man who sprang from their own ranks holding a position of honour. Chatillon was good-looking and fortune favoured him. He was not over-addicted to thought. No event ever disturbed his serene outlook. The Reverend Father Agaric, surrendering to M. Bigourd's reasons and recognising that the existing government could only be destroyed by one of its defenders, cast his eyes upon Emiral Chatillon. He asked a large sum of money from his friend, the Reverend Father Cornemuse, which the latter handed him with a sigh. And with this sum he hired six hundred butcher boys of Alca to run behind Chatillon's horse and shout, "Hurrah for the Emiral!" Henceforth Chatillon could not take a single step without being cheered. Viscountess Olive asked him for a private interview. He received her at the Admiralty* in a room decorated with anchors, shells, and grenades. * Or better, Emiralty. She was discreetly dressed in greyish blue. A hat trimmed with roses covered her pretty, fair hair, Behind her veil her eyes shone like sapphires. Although she came of Jewish origin there was no more fashionable woman in the whole nobility. She was tall and well shaped; her form was that of the year, her figure that of the season. "Emiral," said she, in a delightful voice, "I cannot conceal my emotion from you. . . . It is very natural . . . before a hero." "You are too kind. But tell me, Viscountess, what brings me the honour of your visit." "For a long time I have been anxious to see you, to speak to you. . . . So I very willingly undertook to convey a message to you." "Please take a seat." "How still it is here." "Yes, it is quiet enough." "You can hear the birds singing." "Sit down, then, dear lady." And he drew up an arm-chair for her. She took a seat with her back to the light. "Emiral, I came to bring you a very important message, a message. . ." "Explain." "Emiral, have you ever seen Prince Crucho?" "Never." She sighed. "It is a great pity. He would be so delighted to see you! He esteems and appreciates you. He has your portrait on his desk beside his mother's. What a pity it is he is not better known! He is a charming prince and so grateful for what is done for him! He will be a great king. For he will be king without doubt. He will come back and sooner than people think. . . . What I have to tell you, the message with which I am entrusted, refers precisely to. . ." The Emiral stood up. "Not a word more, dear lady. I have the esteem, the confidence of the Republic. I will not betray it. And why should I betray it? I am loaded honours and dignities." "Allow me to tell you, my dear Emiral, that your honours and dignities are far from equalling what you deserve. If your services were properly rewarded, you would be Emiralissimo and Generalissimo, Commander-in-chief of the troops both on land and sea. The Republic is very ungrateful to you." "All governments are more or less ungrateful." "Yes, but the Republicans are jealous of you. That class of person is always afraid of his superiors. They cannot endure the Services. Everything that has to do with the navy and the army is odious to them. They are afraid of you." "That is possible." "They are wretches; they are ruining the country. Don't you wish to save Penguinia? "In what way?" "By sweeping away all the rascals of the Republic, all the Republicans." "What a proposal to make to me, dear lady!" "It is what will certainly be done, if not by you, then by some one else. The Generalissimo, to mention him alone, is ready to throw all the ministers, deputies, and senators into the sea, and to recall Prince Crucho." "Oh, the rascal, the scoundrel," exclaimed the Emiral. "Do to him what he would do to you. The prince will know how to recognise your services, He will give you the Constable's sword and a magnificent grant. I am commissioned, in the mean time, to hand you a pledge of his royal friendship." As she said these words she drew a green cockade from her bosom. "What is that?" asked the Emiral. "It is his colours which Crucho sends you." "Be good enough to take them back." "So that they may be offered to the Generalissimo who will accept them! . . . No, Emiral, let me place them on your glorious breast." Chatillon gently repelled the lady. But for some minutes he thought her extremely pretty, and he felt this impression still more when two bare arms and the rosy palms of two delicate hands touched him lightly. He yielded almost immediately. Olive was slow in fastening the ribbon. Then when it was done she made a low courtesy and saluted Chatillon with the title of Constable. "I have been ambitious like my comrades," answered the sailor, "I don't hide it, and perhaps I am so still; but u on my word of honour, when I look at you, the only, desire I feel is for a cottage and a heart." She turned upon him the charming sapphire glances that flashed from under her eyelids. "That is to be had also . . . what are you doing, Emiral?" "I am looking for the heart." When she left the Admiralty, the Viscountess went immediately to the Reverend Father Agaric to give an account of her visit. "You must go to him again, dear lady," said that austere monk. <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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