God only. The sovereign does not owe her queendom to birth; but to merit, or to that which the Dromans deem as such. She is chosen, and she is chosen queen for life. I say she, and I mean she. The Salic law excluded a woman from the throne of France; the Salic law of Drome excludes the man—or, as the Dromans are wont to put it, "no man may be queen"—a proposition that even the most Socratical Droman philosopher has never been known to dispute!
As to the choosing of the Droman sovereign, I should perhaps explain that not everyone has a voice in this. Beggars, prodigals, sociophagites, dunces, nincompoops, fuddle-caps, half-wits, no-wit-at-alls, sharpers, crooks, bunko-men, paupers, thieves, robbers, highwaymen, burglars, madmen and murderers, and some others, are all (I know that this is perfectly incredible and awful, but I solemnly assure you that it is a fact) interdicted the ballot.
Alas, it grieves me more than I could ever express to record so sad an instance of benightment in a people in so many ways so truly enlightened and broad-minded. But I take pride in saying that (when I had attained to something like a real knowledge of the Droman tongue) I described to Lepraylya herself, at the very first opportunity and in the most glowing and eulogistical language at my command, how beautifully we did these things in the world above.
I had (yes, I confess it) flattered myself that I would thus be instrumental in bringing about a great reform, in righting a cruel injustice. Vain vision—vain, alluring dream! As I went on with my panegyric, I saw wonder and amazement gathering in the beautiful eyes of Lepraylya. When I had finished, she sat for some moments like one dumfound-ed. And, when at last she spoke, it was, as old Rabelais has it, as though her tongue was walking on crutches. What she said was: "My Lord Bill Carter!"
And again after a pause: "My Lord Bill Carter!
"But, then," she added, "it must be an allegory. I confess, however, that the meaning, to my poor intellect at any rate, is involved in the deepest obscurity. Yes, allegory it must be. Surely this world you have described to me exists only in the imagination—is an imaginary world inhabited by imaginary sane people that are in reality lunatics."
But this is anticipating.
There we stood before the Queen of Drome.
And what a vision of loveliness was that upon which we stood gazing! Strange, too, was the beauty of Lathendra Lepraylya, what with her snow-white hair. (Her age I put at about thirty.) The eyes, large and lustrous, were of the lighest gray, the pallid color enhancing the weird loveliness of her. Her dress was of the palest blue; on her brow, in a bejeweled golden diadem, was a large brilliant of pale green, flashing when she moved her look with prismatic hues and fires.
But this woman before whom we stood was no mere beauty. That one saw at the first glance. Wonderful, splendid, one felt, was the mind of her, the soul of Lathendra Lepraylya. And not only that, but it was as though there was something uncanny in those pale gray eyes when she turned them to mine. That look of Lepraylya seemed to go right into my very brain, search out its thoughts and its secret places.
At the time it seemed long, but I suppose that no more than a couple of seconds had passed before she had turned her eyes to Milton Rhodes, upon whom they seemed to linger.
