off," he said. He started for the Platz. "How uncertain life
is. It seems that I did not come to Bleiberg carelessly in the way of
amusement, but to work out a part of my destiny." He arrested his steps
at the fountain and listened to the low, musical plash of the water,
each drop of which fell with the light of a dazzling jewel. The cold
stars shone from above. They were not farther away than she. A princess,
a lonely and forlorn princess, hemmed in by the fabric of royal laws; a
princess yet possessing less liberty than the meanest of her peasants.
Nothing belonged to her, not even her heart, which was merchandise, a
commodity of exchange, turned over to the highest bidder. "Royalty," he
mused, "is a political slave-dealer; the slaves are those who wear the
crowns."

Once inside the palace, he became a man of the world, polished,
nonchalant, handsome, and mildly curious. Immediately after the usher
announced his name, he crossed the chamber and presented his respects to
the prelate, who, he reasoned not unwisely, expected him. The friendly
greeting of the archbishop confirmed this reasoning.

"I am delighted to see you, Monsieur," he said, showing his remarkably
well preserved teeth in the smile that followed his words. "A service
to her Royal Highness is a service to me. Amuse yourself; you will find
some fine paintings in the west gallery."

"I trust her Royal Highness is none the worse for the fright," Maurice
replied. He also remarked (mentally) that he did not see her Highness
anywhere. Several introductions followed, and he found himself chatting
with the British minister.

"Carewe?" the Englishman repeated thoughtfully. "Are you not Maurice
Carewe, of the American Legation in Vienna?"

"Yes."

"May I ask you a few questions?"

"A thousand."

"A fellow-countryman of mine has mysteriously disappeared. He left
Vienna for Bleiberg, saying that if nothing was heard of him within a
week's time, to make inquiries about him. This request was left with
the British ambassador, who has just written me, adding that a personal
friend of the gentleman in question was in Bleiberg, and that this
friend was Maurice Carewe, attache to the American Legation. Are you
acquainted with Lord Fitzgerald, son of my late predecessor?"

"I am indeed. I saw him in Vienna," said Maurice; "but he said nothing
to me about coming here," which was true enough. "Is there any cause for
apprehension?"

"Only his request to be looked