"I believe you, Bonaparte," she murmured softly, "and I think I have
shown you in the past that I am not indifferent to you. I am with
you--Apollyon is doomed."
Thus encouraged, Bonaparte, followed by his constantly growing army,
proceeded to the palace.
Apollyon received him with dignity.
"I am glad to receive so distinguished a person," he said.
"Thank you," said Bonaparte, "but this is not a society function,
Your Highness--I have come here on business, so spare me your
flatteries."
Apollyon turned purple with rage.
"Insolent!" he cried. "Consider yourself under arrest."
"Certainly," said Bonaparte, calmly. "Will you kindly hand me your
crown?"
Apollyon rose in his wrath, and ordered his aides to arrest
Bonaparte, and to cast him into the furnace. "Make it a million
degrees Farenheit," he roared.
"I regret to inform your majesty," said the chief aide, "that word
has just been received that the fires are out, the coal-yard has been
captured by the rebels, and five adventurous spirits have let all the
vitriol out of the reservoir into the Styx."
"Summon my guards, and have this man boned, then!" raged Apollyon.
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