“Such a crisis is at hand. Here are the facts. Strackenz is ruled by a Duchess Irma, who has recently reached marriageable age. She is exceedingly popular with her subjects being young and personable and therefore supremely fitted to rule, in the eyes of superstitious peasants. It has been arranged that she should marry a prince of the Danish royal family, a nephew, in fact, of King Christian himself, one Prince Carl Gustaf. This informs you of the importance that Denmark attaches to even such a tiny province as Strackenz. The point is that the marriage will be hailed by the Danish faction in Strackenz, who are an unusually troublesome group—possibly because they are so far away from Denmark itself. And if they are contented, Strackenz will continue in peace. Its German population will know how to wait,” he added with confidence.

I confess I stifled a yawn, but he ignored it.

“Politically, then, the match is not only desirable, but essential. Its stabilising influence apart, I am not without hopes of Carl Gustaf, with whom I am acquainted. He would make a popular consort and ruler in Strackenz.”

He hesitated, his eyes unwinking on mine, and I stirred impatiently.

“Well, then,” says I, “good luck to the happy couple, and God bless ’em all and Tiny Tim. Will you come to the point as far as I’m concerned—if I am at all, which I’m beginning to doubt.”

“Oh, you are,” says he, nodding grimly. “I said there was a crisis in Strackenz. It is this: as things stand, the wedding, which is to be solemnised in six weeks’ time, cannot take place.”

“Can’t it, now? Why not?”

“Prince Carl Gustaf, who is in many ways an admirable young man, has nevertheless his share of young men’s folly.” Bismarck paused. “He has contracted a social disease, which makes it impossible that he marry, at least for the time being.”

“A what?”

“A social disease.”

“You mean he’s got a dose of clap?” I let loose a guffaw. “Well, that’s damned inconsiderate of him. Bad luck on Countess what’s-her-name, too. Still, boys will be boys, eh? But that makes things awkward, I agree. What are you going to do about it?”

Bismarck didn’t reply for a moment. There was a dead silence in the room, an expectant silence that made me uneasy.

“Well,” says I at length. “What next?”

Bismarck stood up abruptly, went over to a desk against the wall, and took a small object from it. He weighed it in his hand as he paced slowly back to the table.

“If the wedding does not take place, Strackenz will explode. The Danish party will see to it; liberal agitators will whip up anti-German feeling with tales of a plot. But it is obviously impossible for Prince Carl to marry for several months, when his…condition has responded to treatment.”