and I don't care who knows it."

"Hush, mother!" urged the daughters.

"Oh, there's many to think as I do!" cried the old woman stubbornly.

I threw myself back in my deep armchair, and laughed at her zeal.

"For my part," said the younger and prettier of the two daughters, a
fair, buxom, smiling wench, "I hate Black Michael! A red Elphberg for
me, mother! The King, they say, is as red as a fox or as--"

And she laughed mischievously as she cast a glance at me, and tossed her
head at her sister's reproving face.

"Many a man has cursed their red hair before now," muttered the old
lady--and I remembered James, fifth Earl of Burlesdon.

"But never a woman!" cried the girl.

"Ay, and women, when it was too late," was the stern answer, reducing
the girl to silence and blushes.

"How comes the King here?" I asked, to break an embarrassed silence. "It
is the duke's land here, you say."

"The duke invited him, sir, to rest here till Wednesday. The duke is at
Strelsau, preparing the King's reception."

"Then they're friends?"

"None better," said the old lady.

But my rosy damsel tossed her head again; she was not to be repressed
for long, and she broke out again:

"Ay, they love one another as men do who want the same place and the
same wife!"

The old woman glowered; but the last words pricked my curiosity, and I
interposed before she could begin scolding:

"What, the same wife, too! How's that, young lady?"

"All the world knows that Black Michael--well then, mother, the
duke--would give his soul to marry his cousin, the Princess Flavia, and
that she is to be the queen."

"Upon my word," said I, "I begin to be sorry for your duke. But if a man
will be a younger son, why he must take what the elder leaves, and be
as thankful to God as he can;" and, thinking of myself, I shrugged my
shoulders and laughed. And then I thought also of Antoinette de Mauban
and her journey to Strelsau.

"It's little dealing Black Michael has with--" began the girl, braving
her mother's anger; but as she spoke a heavy step sounded on the floor,
and a gruff voice asked in a threatening tone:

"Who talks of 'Black Michael' in his Highness's own burgh?"

The girl gave a little shriek, half of fright--half, I think, of
amusement.

"You'll not tell of me, Johann?" she said.

"See where your chatter leads," said the old lady.

The man who had spoken came forward.

"We have company, Johann," said my hostess, and the fellow