ning to Maurice.

"Yes, that is the name."

"Well, then, Monsieur Carewe has met with an accident; please escort
him to the gate. I trust you will not suffer any inconvenience from the
cold. Good evening, Monsieur Carewe."

She retraced her steps down the path. The bulldog followed. Once he
looked back at Maurice, and stopped as if undecided, then went on.
Maurice stared at the figure of the girl until it vanished behind a
clump of rose bushes.

"Well, Monsieur Carewe!" said the Lieutenant, a broad smile under his
mustache.

"I beg your pardon, Lieutenant. May I ask you who she is?"

"What! You do not know?"

Maurice suddenly saw light. "Her Royal Highness?" blankly.

"Her Royal Highness, God bless her!" cried the Lieutenant heartily.

"Amen to that," replied Maurice, his agitation visible even to the
officer.

They arrived at the gate in silence. The cuirassier raised the bar,
touched his helmet, and said, with something like an amused twinkle in
his eyes: "Would Monsieur like to borrow my helmet for a space?"

Maurice put up a hand to his water-soaked hair, and gave an ejaculation
of dismay. He had forgotten all about his hat, which was by now, in-all
probabilities, at the bottom of the lake.

"Curse the luck!" he said, in English.

"Curse the want of it, I should say!" was the merry rejoinder, also in
English.

Maurice threw back his head and laughed, and the cuirassier caught the
infection.

"However, there is some compensation for the hat," said the cuirassier,
straightening his helmet. "You are the first stranger who has spoken
to her Highness this many a day. Did the dog take to your calves? Well,
never mind; he has no teeth. It was only day before yesterday that the
Marshal swore he'd have the dog shot. Poor dog! He is growing blind,
too, or he'd never have risked his gums on the Marshal, who is all
shins. If you will wait I will fetch you one of the archbishop's skull
caps."

"Don't trouble yourself," laughed Maurice. "What I need is not a hat,
but a towel, and I'll get that at the hotel. George! I feel so like an
ass. What is your name, Lieutenant?"

"Von Mitter, Carl von Mitter, at your service. And you are Monsieur
Carewe."

"Of the American legation in Vienna. Thanks for your trouble."

"None at all. You had better hurry along; your nails are growing black."

Maurice passed into the street. "Her Royal Highness!" he muttered.
"The crown princess, and I never suspected. Her name is