“Now I shall make curl papers of half my bonds, and I shall rely on the—­what do you call it?—­the Provisional Government to pay the rest.  You remember about the house?”

“I’ll see about that soon,” said the colonel impatiently.  “You two seem to think there’s nothing to do but take the money.  You forget we’ve got to make our position safe.”

“Exactly.  The colonel’s government must be carried on,” said I.

The signorina did not catch the allusion.  She yawned, and said: 

“Oh, then, I shall go.  Rely on my loyalty, your Excellency.”

She made him a courtesy and went to the door.  As I opened it for her she whispered, “Horrid old bear!  Come and see me, Jack,” and so vanished, carrying off her dollars.

I returned and sat down opposite the colonel.

“I wonder how she knew about the washing-stand,” I remarked.

“Because Whittingham was fool enough to tell her, I suppose,” said the colonel testily, as if he disliked the subject.

Then we settled to business.  This unambitious tale does not profess to be a complete history of Aureataland, and I will spare my readers the recital of our discussion.  We decided at last that matters were still so critical, owing to the President’s escape, that the ordinary forms of law and constitutional government must be temporarily suspended.  The Chamber was not in session, which made this course easier.  The colonel was to be proclaimed President and to assume supreme power under martial law for some weeks, while we looked about us.  It was thought better that my name should not appear officially, but I agreed to take in hand, under his supervision, all matters relating to finance.

“We can’t pay the interest on the real debt,” he said.

“No,” I replied; “you must issue a notice, setting forth that, owing to General Whittingham’s malversations, payments must be temporarily suspended.  Promise it will be all right later on.”

“Very good,” said he; “and now I shall go and look up those officers.  I must keep them in good temper, and the men too.  I shall give ’em another ten thousand.”

“Generous hero!” said I, “and I shall go and restore this cash to my employers.”

It was twelve o’clock when I left the Golden House and strolled quietly down to Liberty Street.  The larger part of the soldiers had been drawn off, but a couple of companies still kept guard in the Piazza.  The usual occupations of life were going on amid a confused stir of excitement, and I saw by the interest my appearance aroused that some part at least of my share in the night’s doing had leaked out.  The Gazette had published a special edition, in which it hailed the advent of freedom, and, while lauding McGregor to the skies, bestowed a warm commendation on the “noble Englishman who, with a native love of liberty, had taken on himself the burden of Aureataland in her hour of travail.”  The metaphor struck me as inappropriate, but the sentiment was most healthy; and when I finally beheld two officers of police sitting on the head of a drunken man for toasting the fallen regime, I could say to myself, as I turned into the bank, “Order reigns in Warsaw.”