I helped the old man to his feet, and he rubbed the back of his head

grimly. He drew a revolver from his pocket.

"I had forgotten all about it," he said contritely. "Shall I follow

him, your Highness?"

"Let him go. It doesn't matter now. Betty, you were right, as you

always are. I have played the part of a silly fool. I _would_ have my

own way in the matter. Well, I have this worthless paper. At least I

can frighten the duke, and that is something."

"Oh, my dear, if only you would have listened to my advice!" the other

girl said. There was deep discouragement in her tones. "I warned you

so often that it would come to this end."

"Let us drop the matter entirely," said her Highness.

I gazed admiringly at her--to see her sink suddenly into a chair and

weep abandonedly! Leopold eyed her mournfully, while the English girl

rushed to her side and flung her arms around her soothingly.

"I am very unhappy," said the princess, lifting her head and shaking

the tears from her eyes. "I am harassed on all sides; I am not allowed

any will of my own. I wish I were a peasant!--Thank you, thank you!

But for you that wretch would have kissed me." She held out her hand

to me, and I bent to one knee as I kissed it. She was worthy to be the

wife of the finest fellow in all the world. I was very sorry for her,

and thought many uncomplimentary things of the duke.

"I shall not ask you to forget my weakness," she said.

"It is already forgotten, your Highness."

Under such circumstances I met the Princess Hildegarde of Barscheit;

and I never betrayed her confidence until this writing, when I have her

express permission.

Of Hermann Steinbock I never saw anything more. Thus the only villain

passes from the scene. As I have repeatedly remarked, doubtless to

your weariness, this is not my story at all; but in parenthesis I may

add that between the Honorable Betty Moore and myself there sprang up a

friendship which later ripened into something infinitely stronger.

This, then, was the state of affairs when, one month later, Max

Scharfenstein poked his handsome blond head over the frontier of

Barscheit; cue (as the dramatist would say), enter hero.




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