THE preparations for the grand celebration of the Conqueror’s birthday by the people of America were complete to the last detail at noon on the day preceding.

The Governor-General was determined to make this event an example in promptness, glorious display and perfect efficiency. How prompt and efficient its real managers were going to make it he could not dream!

Every suspicion of disloyalty had been put at rest by the eager enthusiasm with which the Woman’s Legion of Honor, with its five thousand chapters, had taken the lead in preparation under Virginia’s brilliant direction. For three months the most beautiful girls in America had vied with one another in courting the favor of the army for the approaching festival. From the Governor-General down to the sailors of the fleet our girls had eyes only for the Imperial Army uniforms.

The artillerymen, the aviators, and the submarine experts were the favorites. The conquerors began to feel a contemptuous pity for the poor native devils their charms had put out of the running.

Even the chauffeurs and railroad officials were everywhere courted and fêted by the fair ones. Every railroad agent, conductor, dispatcher, and superintendent was an officer in the Imperial Army. These men, who had rarely shared the glory of the regular army, were particularly elated over their triumphs with the girls.

When the Day dawned every terminal and every train in America was decorated with the royal flags. The spirit of abandonment to joy in a strange, subdued mania swept the nation. Beneath it beat the throbbing hearts of a million Sons of the New Revolution and a million Daughters of Jael who had offered their souls and bodies a living sacrifice for the glory of the Day. The contagion of earnestness from these eager millions of young men and women set every heart to beating with expectant awe.

Angela received her final instructions at the Holland house at six o’clock. The magnificent display of fireworks would begin at eight-thirty, the dancing at nine-thirty, the banquet at eleven-thirty.

“You have a girl with every chauffeur?” Virginia asked sharply.

“Si, signorina—“ Angela paused and smiled. “And they have learned to drive, too—yes—they have had some fun these three months!”

“At the Seventy-first Armory, a girl for every sailor of the fleet?”

“For every one—”

“At the Twelfth Regiment?”

“For the birdmen’s chauffeurs—I have two—very prettiest girls—two for each—”

“At the Seventh Regiment?”

“A girl for every waiter to help them serve. My girls they help the waiters everywhere—”

A look of fierce triumph overspread the dark features of the little mother. Her eyes grew misty. She fumbled in her bosom and slowly drew out the blood-stained flag her boy had worn on his breast.

“And I have the flag, signorina! When I tear the red crown from the staff I wave this one and shout for my bambino.”

Virginia merely nodded. Her mind was sweeping the last possibility of accident.

“You haven’t been able to reach a single man among the wireless operators of the Woolworth tower?” she asked dreamily.

“Not one, signorina. The old devil up there don’t like the girls. He is not human—”

“There’s no help for it then,” she answered. “We’ll try another way. When all is ready attend me at the palace of the Governor-General. When the signal flashes from the Metropolitan tower I want the car I always drive at the door instantly—”

“Si, signorina—my chauffeur he like me very much—I must think of my bambino when I strike!”

“You will not fail?” Virginia sternly asked.

Angela touched the little flag and shook her head.

“Do not fear—I shall not fail!” She paused, bent close and whispered, “My chauffeur join our men, signorina—the Sergeant of the big guns, too. He swear to me the guns shall be ours!”

With a quick pressure of her hand Virginia hurried to enter the car of state which was already standing at the door.

The streets were thronged with thousands who talked in subdued tones. They had felt the iron hand on their throats too often during the past three years to abandon themselves to the occasion.

There were no screeching horns, no riotous boys and girls hurling confetti. Such crude expressions of liberty were forbidden.

Beneath the outer quiet slumbered the coming volcano.

Virginia drove to the Waldorf-Astoria, sent her card to a distinguished guest and was ushered into his parlors.

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