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It seems that the British are coming after all. A goodly sized party was seen already entering the palace—and it was headed by Lord Palmerston!"
    "Well, there is no end to surprises," said Lincoln, "as the man said when he first saw the elephant. I believe that we shall meet at last."
    "For good or ill," Pierce said, mopping his sweating face with his kerchief.
    "We'll know soon enough," Lincoln said. "Well now—shall we brave the elements and finally get to meet Lord Palmerston?"
    The carriage was still accompanied by the Belgian cavalrymen, now looking damp and miserable, the elegant plumes on their helmets drooping and wet. King Leopold had taken it as a personal responsibility that the American President had been assaulted in his country. He was determined that there would be no reoccurrence. There had been unobtrusive guards in the hotel, most disguised as employees, and others now waited along the route that the carriage would take. The King believed that the honor of Belgium was at stake.
    It was a short ride to the palace, but when they reached it they had to stop and wait until the occupants came out from the two carriages that had arrived ahead of them. The men who emerged had to brave the rain to enter the building while servants with umbrellas did their best to shield them from the elements. The cavalrymen did not like the delay, and transmitted their unease to their mounts, which stamped and pulled at their reins. They were relieved when the other carriages left and they could take their place at the foot of the steps.
    Once inside, the Americans were ushered to the great chamber where the conference would convene. Even on this dark day, light streamed in through the ceiling-high windows. Ornate gas lamps abolished any traces of gloom, illuminating the ornately painted ceiling where centaurs pranced around lightly clad, very large women.
    But Abraham Lincoln had no eyes for any of this. Across the floor and opposite their table (with the neatly lettered sign ÉTATS-UNIS upon it) was that of GRANDE BETAGNE. One seated man stood out sharply from the dark-clothed delegation. His foot propped on a stool before him, his hands clasped around the head of his cane, he glowered out at the entire assembly.
    "Lord Palmerston, I presume?" Lincoln said quietly.
    Gus nodded. "None other. He looks to be in an angry mood."
    "Considering the tenor of his communications with us, I believe he must live in a permanent state of bile."
    The Belgian Foreign Minister, Baron Surlet de Chokier, rose and the murmur of voices died away as he addressed the assembly in French.
    "He is just reading out a formal and general greeting to all the delegations assembled here," Fox said, leaning over to whisper to the President. "And it is his fond hope that prosperity for all countries will be the fruitful conclusion of these highly significant and most important negotiations."
    Lincoln nodded. "You never cease to surprise me, Gus."
    Fox smiled and gave a very Gallic shrug of his shoulders.
    When the baron had finished, he waved to his clerk, who began to read the protocol of business for the assembly. But Lord Palmerston loudly cleared his throat. He rumbled like a distant volcano as he climbed to his feet.
    "Before these proceedings continue, I must protest strongly about the nature and particular membership of this assembly—"
    "I beg your lordship to hear the protocol first!" de Chokier said pleadingly—but Palmerston would have none of it.
    "A protest, sir, about the very basic nature of these proceedings. We are assembled here in a congress of the great nations of Europe to discuss matters most relevant to countries that are European. I therefore object most strongly to the presence of representatives of the upstart nation from far across the Atlantic. They have no right to be here and have no relevance to the matters at hand. The sight of them is an abomination to all honest men, of whatever nationality. Particularly insulting is the