rned. Then one would be
lighted and passed along the line. Each man would take one puff and pass
it on behind his back. It was great fun.

Prince Ferdinand William Otto stood in the shadows and glanced across.
The sentries stood like wooden men, but something was wrong in the
courtyard inside. The guards were all standing, and there seemed to be
a great many of them. And just as he had made up his mind to take the
plunge, so to speak, a part of his own regiment of cavalry came out from
the courtyard with a thundering of hoofs, wheeled at the street, and
clattered off.

Very unusual, all of it.

The Crown Prince Ferdinand William Otto felt in his pocket for his
handkerchief, and, moistening a corner with his tongue, wiped his face.
Then he wiped his shoes. Then, with his hands in his trousers pockets,
he sauntered into the light.

Now sentries are trained to be impassive. The model of a sentry is a
wooden soldier. A really good sentry does not sneeze or cough on duty.
Did any one ever see a sentry, for instance, wipe his nose? Or twirl his
thumbs? Or buy a newspaper? Certainly not.

Therefore the two sentries made no sign when they saw Ferdinand William
Otto approaching. But one of them forgot to bring his musket to salute.
He crossed himself instead. And something strained around the other
sentry's lower jaw suddenly relaxed into a smile as His Royal Highness
drew a hand from its refuge and saluted. He glanced first at one, then
at the other, rather sheepishly, hesitated between them, clapped his hat
on more securely, and marched in.

"The young rascal!" said the second sentry to himself. And by turning
his head slightly--for a sentry learns to see all around like a horse,
without twisting his neck--he watched the runaway into the palace.

Prince Ferdinand William Otto went up the stone staircase. Here and
there he passed guards who stared and saluted. Had he not been obsessed
with the vision of Miss Braithwaite, he would have known that relief
followed in his wake. Messengers clattered down the staircase to the
courtyard. Other messengers, breathless and eager, flew to that lighted
wing where the Council sat, and where the old King, propped up in bed,
waited and fought terror.

The Archduchess Annunciata was with her father. Across the corridor the
Council debated in low tones.

"Tell me again," said the King. "How in God's name could it have
happened? In daylight, and with all of you there!"

"I have told