er reached over and opened hers.

"Oh!" she said, and exhibited a gaudy tissue paper bonnet. Everybody had
one. Mr. Thorpe's was a dunce's cap, and Fraulein's a giddy Pierrette of
black and white. Bobby had a military cap. With eager fingers Ferdinand
William Otto opened his; he had never tasted this delicious paper-cap
joy before.

It was a crown, a sturdy bit of gold paper, cut into points and set with
red paste jewels--a gem of a crown. He was charmed. He put it on his
head, with the unconsciousness of childhood, and posed delightedly.

The Fraulein looked at Prince Ferdinand William Otto, and slowly the
color left her lean face. She stared. It was he, then, and none other.
Stupid, not to have known at the beginning! He, the Crown Prince, here
in the home of these barbarous Americans, when, by every plan that had
been made, he should now be in the hands of those who would dispose of
him.

"I give you," said Mr. Thorpe, raising his glass toward his wife, "the
giver of the feast. Boys, up with you!"

It was then that the Fraulein, making an excuse, slipped out of the
room.

CHAPTER XXXVI. THE KING IS DEAD

Now at last the old King's hour had come. Mostly he slept, as though
his body, eager for its long rest, had already given up the struggle.
Stimulants, given by his devoted physician, had no effect. Other
physicians there were, a group of them, but it was Doctor Wiederman who
stood by the bed and waited.

Father Gregory, his friend of many years, had come again from Etzel, and
it was he who had administered the sacrament. The King had roused for
it, and had smiled at the father.

"So!" he said, almost in a whisper, "you would send me clean! It is hard
to scour an old kettle."

Doctor Wiederman bent over the bed. "Majesty," he implored, "if there is
anything we can do to make you comfortable--"

"Give me Hubert's picture," said the King. When his fingers refused to
hold it, Annunciata came forward swiftly and held it before him. But his
heavy eyes closed. With more intuition than might have been expected
of her, the Archduchess laid it on the white coverlet, and placed her
father's hand on it.

The physicians consulted in an alcove. Annunciata went back to her
restless, noiseless pacing of the room. Father Gregory went to a window,
and stared out. He saw, not the silent crowd in the Place, but many
other things; the King, as a boy, chafing under the restraint of Court
ceremonial; the King, as a