He shook his head.

"If it were likely to happen, it might be," he answered. "But I know
better. I am as certain, Paul, old boy, that I shall never sit upon the
throne of Pannonia, as I am that I am standing before you now. I don't
know why I should be so sure of it, but I am quite convinced that it is
the case."

"It seems to me," I said in a fit of temper, "that the best thing you
could do would be to consult a Harley Street physician. You are not
yourself; you have run down and want a fillip."

He shook his head once more.

"It would take more than a Harley Street tonic to set me up," he
replied. "But there, do not let us talk of my own wretched affairs. Tell
me of yourself--what you have been doing, and how you like soldiering?"

I satisfied him upon these points, and then went on to tell him of my
meeting with the Princess Ottilie. Though it was a difficult thing to
do, I spoke of her with apparent unconcern. I had no wish that he should
read my secret, not yet at any rate. He was extremely interested, and
expressed a desire to be presented to her himself. Only too glad to
agree to anything that would take him out of himself, I proposed that we
should ask permission to call upon her. He assented, and I accordingly
sat down to write a note to her, inquiring whether she would be at home
that afternoon, and if so, if she would permit me to call and present my
brother to her? This note I despatched, and when Max had made some
changes in his attire, we went out and lunched together at the club. On
our return, two hours later, my servant handed me a note. The
handwriting was small, and in some respects un-English.

"The Princess will be very pleased to see us at four o'clock this
afternoon, if we will call," I said in explanation.

Returning the note to its envelope, I placed it carefully in my pocket.
The faint perfume of the paper seemed to linger in the room and to endow
it with a sweetness it had not possessed before. With what eagerness I
looked forward to that call! It seemed as if the laggard hours would
never pass. At last, however, the time arrived, and Felix entered the
room to inform us that the cab was at the door. Soon we turned into
Curzon Street, and drew up before the door of the Prince of Lilienhoehe's
residence. On entering, we were conducted to the drawing-room, where the
Princess and the Baroness Roqsal, her chaperone, were awaiting our
coming.

"Princess," I began, as I crossed the room a