al outing,
and was never published in the papers. But Father Gregory, whose old
eyes were far-sighted, had seen it all. His hand--the hand of the
Church--was on the shoulder of the Crown Prince as they landed.

The boy looked around for the little girl of the bouquet. He took an
immense interest in little girls, partly because he seldom saw any. But
she was gone.

When the motor which had taken them from the quay reached the Palace,
Hedwig roused the Archduchess, whose head had dropped forward on her
chest. "Here we are, mother," she said. "You have had a nice sleep."

But Annunciata muttered something about being glad the wretched day was
over, and every one save Prince Ferdinand William Otto seemed glad to
get back. The boy was depressed. He felt, somehow, that they should
have enjoyed it, and that, having merely endured it, they had failed him
again.

He kissed his aunt's hand dutifully when he left her, and went with a
lagging step to his own apartments. His request to have Hedwig share his
supper had met with a curt negative.

The Countess, having left her royal mistress in the hands of her maids,
went also to her own apartment. She was not surprised, on looking into
her mirror, to find herself haggard and worn. It had been a terrible
day. Only a second had separated that gaping lens in her bag from the
eyes of the officers about. Never, in an adventurous life, had she felt
so near to death. Even now its cold breath chilled her.

However, that was over, well over. She had done well, too. A dozen
pictures of the fortress, of its guns, of even its mine chart as it hung
on a wall, were in the bag. Its secrets, so securely held, were hers,
and would be Karl's.

It was a cunningly devised scheme. Two bags, exactly alike as to
appearance, had been made. One, which she carried daily, was what it
appeared to be. The other contained a camera, tiny but accurate, with
a fine lens. When a knob of the fastening was pressed, the watch slid
aside and the shutter snapped. The pictures when enlarged had proved
themselves perfect.

Pleading fatigue, she dismissed her maid and locked the doors. Then she
opened the sliding panel, and unfastened the safe. The roll of film
was in her hand, ready to be deposited under the false bottom of her
jewel-case.

Within the security of her room, the Countess felt at ease. The chill of
the day left her, to be followed by a glow of achievement. She even sang
a little, a bit of a ballad