te idle," commented Chauvenet. "There is no
doubt whatever that Karl is dead, or we should hear of him."

"Of course," said the German. "If he were not, the death of the old
Emperor would have brought him to life again."

"The same applies to the boy he carried away with him--undoubtedly
dead--or we should hear of him. Karl disappeared soon after his son
Francis was born. It was said--"

"A pretty tale it is!" commented the German--"that the child wasn't
exactly Karl's own. He took it quite hard--went away to hide his shame in
exile, taking his son Frederick Augustus with him."

"He was surely mad," remarked Chauvenet, sipping a cordial. "He is much
better dead and out of the way for the good of Austria. Francis, as I
say, is a good fellow. We have hunted together, and I know him well."

They fell to talking about the lost sons of royal houses--and a goodly
number there have been, even in these later centuries--and then of the
latest marriages between American women and titled foreigners. Chauvenet
was now leading the conversation; it might even have seemed to a critical
listener that he was guiding it with a certain intention.

He laughed as though at the remembrance of something amusing, and held
the little company while he bent over a candle to light a cigar.

"With all due respect to our American host, I must say that a title in
America goes further than anywhere else in the world. I was at Bar Harbor
three years ago when the Baron von Kissel devastated that region. He made
sad havoc among the ladies that summer; the rest of us simply had no
place to stand. You remember, gentlemen,"--and Chauvenet looked slowly
around the listening circle,--"that the unexpected arrival of the
excellent Ambassador of Austria-Hungary caused the Baron to leave Bar
Harbor between dark and daylight. The story was that he got off in a
sail-boat; and the next we heard of him he was masquerading under some
title in San Francisco, where he proved to be a dangerous forger. You all
remember that the papers were full of his performances for a while, but
he was a lucky rascal, and always disappeared at the proper psychological
moment. He had, as you may say, the cosmopolitan accent, and was the most
plausible fellow alive."

Chauvenet held his audience well in hand, for nearly every one remembered
the brilliant exploits of the fraudulent baron, and all were interested
in what promised to be some new information about him. Armitage,
liste