rsons of rank and influence.
After no very long lapse of time, the result of this combination of
circumstances declared itself. Monsieur Bonnefoy's lessons became the
indirect means of starting me on a diplomatic career--and the diplomatic
career made poor Ernest Medhurst, to his own unutterable astonishment,
the hero of a love story!

The story being true, I must beg to be excused, if I abstain from
mentioning names, places, and dates, when I enter on German ground. Let
it be enough to say that I am writing of a bygone year in the present
century, when no such thing as a German Empire existed, and when the
revolutionary spirit of France was still an object of well-founded
suspicion to tyrants by right divine on the continent of Europe.

II.

ON joining the legation, I was not particularly attracted by my chief,
the Minister. His manners were oppressively polite; and his sense of his
own importance was not sufficiently influenced by diplomatic reserve. I
venture to describe him (mentally speaking) as an empty man, carefully
trained to look full on public occasions.

My colleague, the first secretary, was a far more interesting person.
Bright, unaffected, and agreeable, he at once interested me when we were
introduced to each other. I pay myself a compliment, as I consider, when
I add that he became my firm and true friend.

We took a walk together in the palace gardens on the evening of my
arrival. Reaching a remote part of the grounds, we were passed by a
lean, sallow, sour-looking old man, drawn by a servant in a chair on
wheels. My companion stopped, whispered to me, "Here is the Prince,"
and bowed bareheaded. I followed his example as a matter of course. The
Prince feebly returned our salutation. "Is he ill?" I asked, when we had
put our hats on again.

"Shakespeare," the secretary replied, "tells us that 'one man in
his time plays many parts.' Under what various aspects the Prince's
character may have presented itself, in his younger days, I am not able
to tell you. Since I have been here, he has played the part of a martyr
to illness, misunderstood by his doctors."

"And his daughter, the Princess--what do you say of her?"

"Ah, she is not so easily described! I can only appeal to your memory of
other women like her, whom you must often have seen--women who are tall
and fair, and fragile and elegant; who have delicate aquiline noses
and melting blue eyes--women who have often charmed you by their tender