soldiers were sick and worn by six months of hard fighting, and the men of Edelweiss—­the merchants, the laborers and the nobility itself—­flew to arms in defense of the city.  For over a month we fought, hundreds of our best and bravest citizens going down to death.  They at last began a bombardment of the city.  To-day you can see they marks on nearly every house in Edelweiss.  Hundreds of graves in the valley to the south attest the terrors of that siege.  The castle was stormed, and Prince Ganlook, with many of the chief men of the land, met death.  The prince was killed in front of the castle gates, from which he had sallied in a last, brave attempt to beat off the conquerors.  A bronze statue now marks the spot on which he fell.  The Princess, his wife, was my sister, and as I held the portfolio of finance, it was through me that the city surrendered, bringing the siege to an end.  Fifteen years ago this autumn—­the twentieth of November, to be explicit—­the treaty of peace was signed in Sofia.  We were compelled to cede a portion of territory in the far northeast, valuable for its mines.  Indemnity was agreed upon by the peace commissioners, amounting to 20,000,000 gavvos, or nearly $30,000,000 in your money.  In fifteen years this money was to be paid, with interest.  On the twentieth of November, this year, the people of Graustark must pay 25,000,000 gavvos.  The time is at hand, and that is why we recall the war so vividly.  It means the bankruptcy of the nation, gentlemen.”

Neither of his listeners spoke for some moments.  Then Lorry broke the silence.

“You mean that the money cannot be raised?” he asked.

“It is not in our treasury.  Our people have been taxed so sorely in rebuilding their homes and in recuperating from the effect of that dreadful invasion that they have been unable to pay the levies.  You must remember that we are a small nation and of limited resources.  Your nation could secure $30,000,000 in one hour for the mere asking.  To us it is like a death blow.  I am not betraying a state secret in telling you of the sore straits in which we are placed, for every man in the nation has been made cognizant of the true conditions.  We are all facing it together.”  There was something so quietly heroic in his manner that both men felt pity.  Anguish, looking at the military figure, asked:  “You fought through the war, your excellency?”

“I resigned as minister, sir, to go to the front.  I was in the first battle and I was in the last,” he said, simply.

“And the Princess,—­the present ruler, I mean,—­was a mere child at that time.  When did she succeed to the throne?” asked Lorry.

“Oh, the great world does not remember our little history!  Within a year after the death of Prince Ganlook, his wife, my sister, passed away, dying of a broken heart.  Her daughter, their only child, was, according to our custom, crowned at once.  She has reigned for fourteen years, and wisely since assuming full power.  For three years she has been ruler de facto.  She has been frugal, and has done all in her power to meet the shadow that is descending.”