He spoke in a voice that seemed rather hoarse and tired, but his manner expressed the most courteous cordiality.  His face, which had been as still as a statue’s when he showed himself to the house, was now never in repose for a moment.  He kept turning his head, which he carried very upright, this way and that as he spoke; now he would catch sight of someone in the audience to whom he directed his glance, now he would peer over the edge of the low balustrade, now look at the group of officers who stood apart at the back of the box.

His whole demeanour suggested a nervous, highly-strung condition; the restlessness of it was that of a man overstrained, who had lost the capability of being tranquil.  Now he frowned, now he smiled, but never for a moment was he quiet.  Then he launched a perfect hailstorm of questions at Michael, to the answers to which (there was scarcely time for more than a monosyllable in reply) he listened with an eager and a suspicious attention.  They were concerned at first with all sorts of subjects:  inquired if Michael had been at Baireuth, what he was going to do after the Munich festival was over, if he had English friends here.  He inquired Falbe’s name, looked at him for a moment through his glasses, and desired to know more about him.  Then, learning he was a teacher of the piano in England, and had a sister who sang, he expressed great satisfaction.

“I like to see my subjects, when there is no need for their services at home,” he said, “learning about other lands, and bringing also to other lands the culture of the Fatherland, even as it always gives me pleasure to see the English here, strengthening by the study of the arts the bonds that bind our two great nations together.  You English must learn to understand us and our great mission, just as we must learn to understand you.”

Then the questions became more specialised, and concerned the state of things in England.  He laughed over the disturbances created by the Suffragettes, was eager to hear what politicians thought about the state of things in Ireland, made specific inquiries about the Territorial Force, asked about the Navy, the state of the drama in London, the coal strike which was threatened in Yorkshire.  Then suddenly he put a series of personal questions.

“And you, you are in the Guards, I think?” he said.

“No, sir; I have just resigned my commission,” said Michael.

“Why?  Why is that?  Have many of your officers been resigning?”

“I am studying music, Your Majesty,” said Michael.

“I am glad to see you came to Germany to do it.  Berlin?  You ought to spend a couple of months in Berlin.  Perhaps you are thinking of doing so.”

He turned round quickly to one of his staff who had approached him.

“Well, what is it?” he said.

Count von Bergmann bowed low.

“The Herr-Director,” he said, “humbly craves to know whether it is Your Majesty’s pleasure that the opera shall proceed.”