All was silent. A door closed, and then came the tread of feet. I

peered through the portières shortly to see the entrance of two men,

one of whom was the old caretaker. His companion was a dark, handsome

fellow, of Hungarian gipsy type. There was a devil-may-care air about

him that fitted him well. It was Steinbock. He was dressed with

scrupulous care, in spite of the fact that he wore riding clothes. It

is possible that he recognized the importance of the event. One did

not write one's name under a princess' signature every day, even in

mockery. There was a half-smile on his face that I did not like.

"Your Highness sees that I am prompt,"--uncovering.

"It is well. Let us proceed at once to conclude the matter in hand,"

she said.

"Wholly at your service!"

(Hang the fellow's impudence! How dared he use that jovial tone?)

I heard the crackle of parchment. The certificate was being unfolded.

(It occurred to me that while she was about it the princess might just

as well have forged the rascal's name and wholly dispensed with his

services. The whole affair struck me as being ineffective; nothing

would come of it. If she tried to make the duke believe that she had

married Steinbock, her uncle would probe the matter to the bottom, and

in the end cover her with ridicule. But you can not tell a young woman

anything, when she is a princess and in the habit of having her own

way. It is remarkable how stupid clever women can be at times. The

Honorable Betty understood, but her Highness would not be convinced.

Thus she suffered this needless affront. Pardon this parenthesis, but

when one talks from behind a curtain the parenthesis is the only

available thing.) There was silence. I saw Steinbock poise the pen,

then scribble on the parchment. It was done. I stirred restlessly.

"There!" cried Steinbock. His voice did not lack a certain triumph.

"And now for the duplicate!"

Her Highness stuffed the document into the bosom of her dress. "There

will be no duplicate." The frigidity of her tones would have congealed

the blood of an ordinary rascal. But Steinbock was not ordinary.

"But suppose the duke comes to me for verification?" he reasoned.

"You will be on the other side of the frontier. Here are your thousand

crowns."

The barb of her contempt penetrated even his thick epidermis. His

smile hardened.

"I was once a gentleman; I did not always accept money for aiding in

shady transactions."

"Neither your sentiments nor your opinions are required. Now, observe

me carefully," continued her Highness. "I shall give you twenty-four

hours to cross the frontier in any direction you choose. If after that

time you are found in Barscheit, I promise to hand you over to the

police."




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