She smiled at the king, who
eyed her fondly, and gave her unengaged hand to the Englishman,
who kissed it.
"And how is your Royal Highness this fine day? he asked, patting
the hand before letting it go.
"Will you have a dahlia, Monsieur?" With a grave air she
selected a flower and slipped it through his button-hole.
"Does your Highness know the language of the flowers?" the
Englishman asked.
"Dahlias signify dignity and elegance; you are dignified,
Monsieur, and dignity is elegance."
"Well!" cried the Englishman, smiling with pleasure; "that is
turned as adroitly as a woman of thirty."
"And am I not to have one?" asked the king, his eyes full of
paternal love and pride.
"They are for your Majesty's table," she answered.
"Your Majesty!" cried the king in mimic despair. "Was ever a
father treated thus? Your Majesty! Do you not know, my dear,
that to me 'father' is the grandest title in the world?"
Suddenly she crossed over and kissed the king on the cheek, and
he held her to him for a moment.
The bulldog had risen, and was wagging his tail the best he knew
how. If there was any young woman who could claim his unreserved
admiration, it was the Princess Alexia.
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