g will you be in New York?"

"A week--ten days, perhaps. Then I go to Boston, and to Montreal and
Quebec, and thence home again. I am glad I shall not have to use a
German boat. I do not like German boats--nor anything German, for the
matter of that! Which reminds me of a most peculiar circumstance. You
may have wondered at my remark with reference to that young man who was
strolling with Miss Vard?"

"That she could talk to him without fear? Yes, I have wondered just what
you meant by it."

"I may be mistaken--but I should like your judgment. In the library,
among the other books, is one which describes the life of the Kaiser and
his family--it is put there, I suppose, for all good Germans to read. It
is illustrated by many photographs. In looking at the photographs, one
of them impressed me as curiously familiar; if I should happen to be
correct, it would make a most startling article for your newspaper. But
I wish you to judge for yourself. You will find the book lying on the
table in the library, and the photograph in question is on page
sixty-eight. If you will look at it, and then return here, I should
consider it a favour."

Considerably astonished, Dan descended to the library, found the book,
and turned to page sixty-eight. Yes, there was a photograph of the Emperor,
with the Empress and Princess Victoria; another of the Crown Prince, with
his wife and children; another of the Princes--Eitel-Frederick, August,
Oscar, Adalbert....

And Dan, looking at it, felt his eyeballs bulge, for he found himself
gazing at the face of Kasia Vard's companion.

He told himself he was mistaken; closed his eyes for an instant and then
looked again. There was certainly a marvellous resemblance. If it should
really be the same--Dan's head whirled at thought of the story it would
make!

He closed the book, at last, climbed slowly back to the boat-deck and
sat down again beside M. Chevrial.

"Well?" asked the latter. "What do you think of it?"

"If they are not the same man, they are remarkably alike," said Dan.

"I believe they are the same."

"But it seems too grotesque. Why should a Hohenzollern travel
second-class, dressed in a shabby walking-suit, and without attendants?"

"There is a middle-aged German with him, who is, no doubt, his tutor, or
guardian, or jailer--whichever you may please to call it."

"His jailer?"

Chevrial smiled.

"The Emperor is a father of the old school, and punishes his sons
occasio