e Frederick of Carnavia."

He stepped aside, and the prince pushed past him into the throne room.
At this dramatic entrance there rose from the archbishop, the Marshal,
the princess, the Carnavian ambassador, from all the court dignitaries,
a cry of wonder and astonishment.

"His Highness!"

"Aye!" cried the prince, brokenly, for his joy at seeing the princess
nigh overcame him. "I have been a prisoner of Madame's, who at this
moment is marching on Bleiberg with an army four thousand strong!" And
stumblingly he related his misadventures.

The Marshal did not wait until he had done, nor did the new Colonel
of the cuirassiers; both rushed from the room. The archbishop frowned;
while the princess and the court stared at the prince with varying
emotions. Before the final word had passed his lips, he approached her
Highness, fell on his knee and raised her hand to his lips. He noticed
not how cold it was.

"Thank God, Mademoiselle," he said, "that once more I look into your
eyes. And if one wedding day is gone--well, there is yet time for
another!" He, rose, and proudly before them all he drew her toward him
and kissed her cheek. It was his right; she was, the light of all
his dreams, at once his bride-to-be and lady-love. But in his joy and
eagerness he did not see how pale she grew at the touch of his lips, nor
how the lids of her eyes trembled and fell.

Next the prince recounted Maurice's adventures, how he became connected
with those at the chateau, even Fitzgerald's fall from grace. The
indignation and surprise which was accorded this recital was unbounded.

The brown eyes of the princess filled. In a moment she had traversed the
space of ten years to a rare September noon, when a gray-haired old man
had kissed her hand and praised her speech. A young dog stood beside
her, ready for a romp in the park. Across the path sat her father, who
was smiling, and who would never smile again. How many times had her
girlish fancy pictured the son of that old man! How many times had she
dreamed of him--aye, prayed for him! The room grew dark, and she pressed
her hand over her heart. To her the future was empty indeed. There was
nothing left but the vague perfume of the past, the faint incense of
futile, childish dreams. To stand on the very threshold of life, and
yet to see no joy beyond! She struggled against the sob which rose, and
conquered it.

"To arms, Messieurs, to arms!" cried the prince, feverishly. "To arms!"