the goals. Phyllis wrote me
that she thought the book "just splendid"; but I took her praise with a
grain of salt, it being likely that she was partial to the author, and
that the real worth of the book was little in comparison with the fact
that it was I who wrote it.

One morning in early June I found three letters on my desk. The first
was from Hillars. He was in Vienna.

"MY DEAR SON," it ran, "there is another rumpus. The Princess
disappeared on the 20th of last month. They are hunting high and low
for her, and incidentally for me. Why me, is more than I can
understand. But I received a letter from Rockwell of the American
Legation warning me that if I remained in Austria I should be
apprehended, put in jail, hanged and quartered for no other reason on
earth than that they suspect me having something to do with her
disappearance. Due, I suppose, to that other miserable affair. Though
I have hunted all over the Continent, I have never seen the Princess
Hildegarde since that night at B----. Where shall I find her? I
haven't the least idea. But as a last throw, I am going to the
principality of Hohenphalia, where she was born and over which she
rules with infinite wisdom. The King is determined that she shall wed
Prince Ernst. He would take away her principality but for the fact
that there would be a wholesale disturbance to follow any such act. If
I ever meet that watch dog of hers, the Count von Walden, the duffer
who gave me my conge, there will be trouble. The world isn't large
enough for two such men as we are. By the way, I played roulette at
the Casino last night and won 3,000 francs. Well, au revoir or adieu
as the case may be. They sell the worst whiskey here you ever heard
of. It's terrible to have an educated palate.

"HILLARS."

So he was still desiring for something he could never have! I got out
of patience with the fellow. Even if she loved him, what chance had he
against the legions of the King? Hillars was a wild-headed fellow,
and, if at liberty, was not incapable of creating a disturbance. It
might land him in jail, or on the gallows. The phlegmatic German is
not particular whom he hangs. In that wide domain there is always some
petty revolution going on. In each of those petty kingdoms, or
principalities, or duchies, there are miniature Rousseaus and Voltaires
who shout liberty and equality in beer halls and rouse the otherwise
peaceful citizens to warfare; sho