"No, no," I said; "sit tight, your Majesty. Courage, gentlemen! Our vindication is at hand!"
The Countess glanced at me with startled eyes; I took her hand, saluted it respectfully, and then quietly led her before the curtain, facing an ocean of upturned faces across the flaring footlights.
She stood a moment to acknowledge the somewhat ragged applause, a calm smile on her lips. All her courage had returned; I saw that at once.
Very quietly she touched her lips to the _eau-sucrée_, laid her manuscript on the table, raised her beautiful head, and began:
"That the ux is a living bird I am here before you to prove--"
A sharp report behind the curtain drowned her voice. She paled; the audience rose amid cries of excitement.
"Sir Peter has hatched out his egg," I whispered. "Hark! There goes another egg!" And I ran behind the curtain.
Such a scene as I beheld was never dreamed of on land or sea. Two enormous young uxen, all over gigantic pin-feathers, were wandering stupidly about. Mounted on one was Sir Peter Grebe, eyes starting from his apoplectic visage; on the other, clinging to the bird's neck, hung the Baron de Becasse.
Before I could move, the two remaining eggs burst, and a pair of huge, scrawny fledglings rose among the débris, bearing off on their backs the King and Crown-Prince.
"Help!" said the King of Finland, faintly. "I'm falling off!"
I sprang to his aid, but tripped on the curtain-spring. The next instant the green curtain shot up, and there, revealed to that vast and distinguished audience, roamed four enormous chicks, bearing on their backs the most respected and exclusive aristocracy of Europe.
The Countess Suzanne turned with a little shriek of horror, then sat down in her chair, laid her lovely head on the table, and very quietly fainted away, unconscious of the frantic cheers which went roaring to the roof.
This, then, is the _true_ history of the famous exposition scandal. And, as I have said, had it not been for the presence in that audience of two American reporters nobody would have known what all the world now knows--nobody would have read of the marvellous feats of bareback riding indulged in by the King of Finland--nobody would have read how Sir Peter Grebe steered his mount safely past the footlights only to come to grief over the prompter's box.