“I didn’t make any!” sobbed Abdul.

“No difference,” said Von der Doppelbauch.  “It is accepted anyway.  The telegram has just arrived accepting all your money.  My assistants are packing it up outside.”

Abdul collapsed still further into his cushions.

“Third, and this will rejoice your Majesty’s heart:  Your troops are again victorious!”

“Victorious!” moaned Abdul.  “Victorious again!  I knew they would be!  I suppose they are all dead as usual?”

“They are,” said the Marshal.  “Their souls,” he added reverently, with a military salute, “are in Heaven!”

“No, no,” gasped Abdul, “not in Heaven! don’t say that!  Not in Heaven!  Say that they are in Nishvana, our Turkish paradise.”

“I am sorry,” said the Field-Marshal gravely.  “This is a Christian war.  The Kaiser has insisted on their going to Heaven.”

The Sultan bowed his head.

“Ishmillah!” he murmured.  “It is the will of Allah.”

“But they did not die without glory,” went on the Field-Marshal.  “Their victory was complete.  Set it out to yourself,” and here his eyes glittered with soldierly passion.  “There stood your troops—­ten thousand!  In front of them the Russians—­a hundred thousand.  What did your men do?  Did they pause?  No, they charged!”

“They charged!” cried the Sultan in misery.  “Don’t say that!  Have they charged again!  Just Allah!” he added, turning to Toomuch.  “They have charged again!  And we must pay, we shall have to pay—­we always do when they charge.  Alas, alas, they have charged again.  Everything is charged!”

“But how nobly,” rejoined the Prussian.  “Imagine it to yourself!  Here, beside this stool, let us say, were your men.  There, across the cushion, were the Russians.  All the ground between was mined.  We knew it.  Our soldiers knew it.  Even our staff knew it.  Even Prinz Tattelwitz Halfstuff, our commander, knew it.  But your soldiers did not.  What did our Prinz do?  The Prinz called for volunteers to charge over the ground.  There was a great shout—­from our men, our German regiments.  He called again.  There was another shout.  He called still again.  There was a third shout.  Think of it!  And again Prinz Halfstuff called and again they shouted.”

“Who shouted?” asked the Sultan gloomily.

“Our men, our Germans.”

“Did my Turks shout?” asked Abdul.

“They did not.  They were too busy tightening their belts and fixing their bayonets.  But our generous fellows shouted for them.  Then Prinz Halfstuff called out, ’The place of honour is for our Turkish brothers.  Let them charge!’ And all our men shouted again.”

“And they charged?”

“They did—­and were all gloriously blown up.  A magnificent victory.  The blowing up of the mines blocked all the ground, checked the Russians and enabled our men, by a prearranged rush, to advance backwards, taking up a new strategic—­”