“Well, then, your Highness, of all the eighteen royal Ludwigs of Franko—­”

“Who like so many ten-pins, all in a row,” interposed Babbalanja—­ “have been bowled off the course by grim Death.”

“Heed him not,” said Media—­“go on.”

“The Debonnaire, the Pious, the Stammerer, the Do-Nothing, the Juvenile, the Quarreler:—­of all these, I say, Ludwig the Fat was the best table-man of them all.  Such a full orbed paunch was his, that no way could he devise of getting to his suppers, but by getting right into them.  Like the Zodiac his table was circular, and full in the middle he sat, like a sun;—­all his jolly stews and ragouts revolving around him.”

“Yea,” said Babbalanja, “a very round sun was Ludwig the Fat.  No wonder he’s down in the chronicles; several ells about the waist, and King of cups and Tokay.  Truly, a famous king:  three hundred-weight of lard, with a diadem on top:  lean brains and a fat doublet—­a demijohn of a demi-god!”

“Is this to be longer borne?” cried Abrazza, starting up.  “Quaff that sneer down, devil! on the instant! down with it, to the dregs!  This comes, my lord Media, of having a slow drinker at one’s board.  Like an iceberg, such a fellow frosts the whole atmosphere of a banquet, and is felt a league off We must thrust him out.  Guards!”

“Back! touch him not, hounds!”—­cried Media.  “Your pardon, my lord, but we’ll keep him to it; and melt him down in this good wine.  Drink!  I command it, drink, Babbalanja!”

“And am I not drinking, my lord?  Surely you would not that I should imbibe more than I can hold.  The measure being full, all poured in after that is but wasted.  I am for being temperate in these things, my good lord.  And my one cup outlasts three of yours.  Better to sip a pint, than pour down a quart.  All things in moderation are good; whence, wine in moderation is good.  But all things in excess are bad:  whence wine in excess is bad.”

“Away with your logic and conic sections!  Drink!—­But no, no:  I am too severe.  For of all meals a supper should be the most social and free.  And going thereto we kings, my lord, should lay aside our scepters.—­ Do as you please Babbalanja.”

“You are right, you are right, after all, my dear demi-god,” said Abrazza.  “And to say truth, I seldom worry myself with the ways of these mortals; for no thanks do we demi-gods get.  We kings should be ever indifferent.  Nothing like a cold heart; warm ones are ever chafing, and getting into trouble.  I let my mortals here in this isle take heed to themselves; only barring them out when they would thrust in their petitions.  This very instant, my lord, my yeoman-guard is on duty without, to drive off intruders.—­Hark!—­what noise is that?—­Ho, who comes?”

At that instant, there burst into the hall, a crowd of spearmen, driven before a pale, ragged rout, that loudly invoked King Abrazza.

“Pardon, my lord king, for thus forcing an entrance!  But long in vain have we knocked at thy gates!  Our grievances are more than we can bear!  Give ear to our spokesman, we beseech!”