rown, "there will be danger. You may
slip; you may become injured. Yes, there is danger."

"Your Highness," said I lowly, compelling her eyes to meet mine, "it is
not the danger of the adventure or its results that I most fear." I
was honest enough to make my meaning clear.

She blushed. "I said that I trusted monsieur's honor," was her
rejoinder. "Come," with a return of her imperiousness; "it is time
that we were gone!" She drew on her cloak and dropped the veil. "I
might add," she said, "that we will remain in France one hour. From
there you may go your way, and I shall go secretly to my palace."

And the glamour fell away like the last leaves of the year.

I had to wake up the driver, who had fallen asleep.

"Where shall I say?" I asked.

"To your hotel. I shall give the driver the remaining instructions."

"But you haven't told me," said I, as I took my place in the carriage,
"how I am to become a guest at the dinner to-morrow evening."

"I spoke to the King this morning. I said that I had a caprice. He
replied that if I would promise it to be my last he would grant it. I
promised. I said that it was my desire to bring to the dinner a person
who, though without rank, was a gentleman--one who would grace any
gathering, kingly or otherwise. My word was sufficient. I knew before
I asked you that you would come. Twenty-four hours from now we, that
is, you and I, will be on the way to the French frontier. I shall be
ever in your debt."

Silence fell upon us. I knew that I loved her with a love that was
burning me up, consuming me. And the adventure was all so unheard of
for these prosaic times! And so full of the charm of mystery was she
that I had not been a man not to have fallen a victim. What
possibilities suggested themselves to me as on we rode! Once across
the frontier I should be free to confess my love for her. A Princess?
What of that? She would be only a woman--the woman I loved. I
trembled. Something might happen so that she would have to turn to me.
If the King refused to forgive her, she was mine! Ah, that plain
carriage held a wonderful dream that night. At length--too shortly for
me--the vehicle drew up in front of my hotel. As I was about to alight
her hand stretched toward me. But instead of kissing it, I pressed my
lips on her round white arm. As though my lips burned, she drew back.

"Have a care, monsieur; have a care," she said, icily. "Such a kiss
has to