A door opened, flooding the corridor with light. Max felt himself

gently pushed over the threshold. He stood in the great living-room of

the modern Doppelkinns. The first person he saw was the princess. She

sat on an oriental divan. Her hands were folded; she sat very erect;

her chin was tilted ominously; there was so little expression on her

pale face that she might have been an incomplete statue. But Max was

almost certain that there was just the faintest flicker of a smile in

her eyes as she saw him enter. Glorious eyes! (It is a bad sign when

a man begins to use the superlative adjectives!)

The other occupant of the room was an old man, fat and bald, with a

nose like a russet pear. He was stalking--if it is possible for a

short man to stalk--up and down the length of the room, and, judging

from the sonorous, rumbling sound, was communing half-aloud.

Betweenwhiles he was rubbing his tender nose, carefully and lovingly.

When a man's nose resembles a russet pear it generally is tender.

Whoever he was, Max saw that he was vastly agitated about something.

This old gentleman was (or supposed he was) the last of his line, the

Prince of Doppelkinn, famous for his wines and his love of them. There

was, so his subjects said, but one tender spot in the heart of this old

man, and that was the memory of the wife of his youth. (How the years,

the good and bad, crowd behind us, pressing us on and on!) However,

there was always surcease in the cellars--that is, the Doppelkinn

cellars.

"Ha!" he roared as he saw the blinking Max. "So this is the fellow!"

He made an eloquent gesture. "Your Highness must be complimented upon

your good taste. The fellow isn't bad-looking."

"When you listen to reason, Prince," replied the girl calmly, "you will

apologize to the gentleman and give him his liberty."

"Oh, he is a gentleman, is he?"

"You might learn from him many of the common rules of

courtesy,"--tranquilly.

"Who the devil are you?" the prince demanded of Max.

"I should be afraid to tell you. I hold that I am Max Scharfenstein,

but the colonel here declares that my name is Ellis. Who are you?"

Max wasn't the least bit frightened. These were not feudal times.

The prince stared at him. The insolent puppy!

"I am the prince."

"Ah, your serene Highness,"--began Max, bowing.

"I am not called 'serene'"--rudely. "The grand duke is 'serene.'"

"Permit me to doubt that," interposed the girl, smiling.

Max laughed aloud, which didn't improve his difficulties any.




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