these raindrops, as big as a hen's egg, kept falling singly, slowly, like a warning. … Diederich had recovered his breath.
"Now, when this monument is unveiled," he began with renewed vigour, "when flags and standards are drooped in reverence, swords are lowered and bayonets flash at the command: present arms —" Just at this moment there was such a formidable crash in the heavens that Diederich ducked his head, and before he knew what he was doing he had crept under the reading-desk. Fortunately he emerged again before any one had noticed him disappear, for everybody had done the same. They scarcely paid any attention as Diederich requested His Excellency, the Governor-General, to be so kind as to order that the monument be unveiled. However, the Governor-General stepped out in front of the official marquee, his face was a shade yellower than usual and the glitter of his star was extinguished. In a feeble voice he said: "In the name of His Majesty I declare this monument to be unveiled"—and the covering fell, to the strains of "Die Wacht am Rhein." The loyal subjects were once more steeled against the threats from heaven by the spectacle of William the Great, riding through the air, looking like a good pater familias, though surrounded by all the terrors of authority. They joined heartily in the cheers of the Governor-General for the Emperor. The air of the national anthem was the cue for His Excellency to go up to the foot of the monument, examine it and to reward the expectant sculptor with a few appropriate words of recognition. People found it natural that this exalted personage should glance up dubiously at the sky, but, as might be expected, his sense of duty triumphed—a victory all the more brilliant because amongst that crowd of gallant soldiers he was the only civilian in a dress-suit. He ventured boldly forth, advancing beneath those huge, slow drops of rain, surrounded by lancers, cuirassiers and army service corps. … The inscription "William the Great" had
