not belittle it."

"If it had not been for Lieutenant von Mitter--"

"Whither were you going, Monsieur?" interrupted the Voice.

"Nowhere; that is, I was going toward my hotel."

"The Continental?"

"Yes, your Highness."

"Step into the carriage, Monsieur;" the Voice had the ring of command.
"I will put you down there. It is the least that I can do to show my
gratitude."

"I--I to ride with your Highness?" he stammered. "O, no! I--that is--it
would scarcely be--"

"You are not afraid of me, Monsieur?" with a smile which, though it had
a bit of the rogue in it, was rather sad. She moved to the other side of
the seat and put the dog on the rug at her feet. "Perhaps you are proud?
Well, Monsieur, I too am proud; so proud that I promise never to forgive
you if you refuse to gratify my wish."

"I was not thinking of myself, your Highness, or rather I was. I am not
presentable. Look at me; my hat is out of shape, my clothes dusty, and I
dare say that my face needs washing."

The Presence replied to this remarkable defense with laughter, laughter
in which Maurice detected an undercurrent of bitterness.

"Monsieur Carewe, you are not acquainted with affairs in Bleiberg, or
you would know that I am a nobody. When I pass through the streets I
attract little attention, I receive no homage. Enter: I command it."

"If your Highness commands--"

"I do command it," imperiously. "And you would have pleased me more
fully if you had accepted the invitation and not obeyed the command."

"I withdraw all objections," he said hastily, "and accept the
invitation."

"That is better," the Voice said.

Maurice, still uncovered, sat down on the front seat.

"Not there, Monsieur; beside me. Etiquette does not permit you to ride
in front of me."

As he took the vacant place beside her he felt a fire in his cheeks. The
Voice and Presence were disquieting. As the groom touched the horses,
Maurice was sensible of her sleeve against his, and he drew away. The
Presence appeared unmindful.

"And you recognize me?" she asked.

"Yes, your Highness." He tried to remember what he had said to her that
day in the archbishop's garden. Two or three things came back and the
color remounted his cheeks.

"Have you forgotten what you said to me?"

"I dare say I was impertinent," vaguely.

"Ah, you have forgotten, then!"

In all his life he never felt so ill at ease. To what did she refer?
That he would be proud to be her friend? That