He frowned on the dirty, ignoble little boys.

What had he in common with them-he, the son of a prince?
Nothing.

He snapped his sword across his knee, tore his cocked hat in two, and, casting the fragments before them, marched proudly toward the very last place on the face of the earth that he desired to visit-his own home.

The army remained for a few seconds bewildered by the dramatic and unexpected, and, leaderless, did what many a real army has done in similar circumstances, straggled into disintegration.
Thenceforward, Paul, had he so chosen, could have ruled despotically in Budge Street.

But he did not choose.