at me with startled eyes.

"What did I tell you? You can not tell a gentleman in the
candle-light." To me she said:

"I thought as much. You have heard _Faust_ in Paris, but you know
nothing of the French language. You claimed to be a gentleman, yet you
have permitted us to converse in French."

"Was it polite of you to use it?" I asked. "All this," with a wave of
the hand, "appears mysterious. This is not a residence one would
expect to find inhabited--and by two charming women!" I bowed. "Your
presence here is even less satisfactorily explained than mine. If I
denied the knowledge of French it was because I wasn't sure of my
surroundings. It was done in self-defense rather than in the desire to
play a trick. And in this language you speak of witnesses, of papers,
of the coming of a man you do not trust. It looks very much like a
conspiracy." I gathered up my gloves and riding-crop. I believed that
I had extricated myself rather well.

"This is my castle," said Gretchen, gently shaking off the warning hand
of her companion. "If I desire to occupy it for a night, who shall
gainsay me? If I leave the latches down, that is due to the fact that
I have no one to fear. Now, sir, you have eaten the bread of my table,
and I demand to know who you are. If you do not tell me at once, I
shall be forced to confine you here till I am ready to leave."

"Confine me!"--nonplussed. This was more than I had reckoned on.

"Yes." She reached out to strike the gong. (I can not be blamed for
surrendering so tamely. I didn't know that the old servitor was the
only man around.)

"I am the American consul at Barscheit."

The two women drew together instinctively, as if one desired to protect
the other from some unknown calamity. What the deuce was it all about?
All at once Gretchen thrust aside her friend and approached. The table
was between us, and she rested her hands upon it. Our glances met and
clashed.

"Did the duke send you here?" she demanded repellently.

"The duke?" I was getting deeper than ever. "The duke?"

"Yes. I am the Princess Hildegarde."

III

The Princess Hildegarde of Barscheit! My gloves and riding-crop
slipped from my nerveless fingers to the floor. A numbing, wilting
sensation wrinkled my spine. The Princess Hildegarde of Barscheit!
She stood opposite me, the woman--ought I not to say girl?--for whom I
had been seeking, after a fashion, all these months! The beautif