d the
young lady's absent father, and Princess Elsa had given him her entire
permission to press his suit. Still more and better, she frequently took
Miss Aline off and left him free to do it, though in any case Miss Aline
was the last woman in the world to be a spoil-sport, even though her
kind heart might ache for Louis Raincy.

On their next visit to Windsor Queen Charlotte took the Princess aside
and pressed her, in her usual motherly fashion, on the subject.

"Of course," she said, "Prince Eitel is only the younger son of a cadet,
and his way was cleared to the dukedom on the bloody day of Wagram, when
his grand-uncle and three cousins were killed in the same charge. He
came to the throne from round the corner. Still he is prince. He cannot
help that, and I am in favour of people of our class marrying _in_ their
own class--"

"Well, Aunt Charlotte," said the Princess, "I have, as you know,
somewhat grave and personal reasons for not agreeing with you."

The Queen turned her face towards her niece. It was a kindly face, but
infinitely sad and lined with more cares than fall to the lot of most
women of her age. The ingratitude of sons, the death of daughters, the
poor troubled husband, old and witless in the King Charles ground-floor
suite, weeping for his lost eyesight or sitting smiling mirthlessly over
his violin, had marked her. But in spite of all she had kept the cult of
royalty.

Bloods should not mix. The sacred should not seek the profane.

"I know," she said, gently putting her hand out and patting the arm of
the Princess, "Brunschweig was no light trial. But are you sure you
would have been happier with your ambassador?"

"Yes," said the Princess Elsa quickly, "I am certain--if he stamped upon
me, if he killed me, I should be happier."

"You think so," said the Queen, "and I shall not try to make you think
otherwise--"

"Because, Aunt Charlotte, neither you nor any one could do that. Julian
is as faithful to-day as he was twenty years ago--as loyal, as ready to
sacrifice himself. He is the one man to be depended upon."

"Ah, because he has remained your lover. But there is my husband. He is
a good man. We have been happy these forty years--without a word,
without a quarrel, and yet, when his wits are touched, whose name comes
to his lips, whose hand does he feel when I stroke his brow?--not
mine--not his old wife's, but that of a woman dead these many years,
whom he knew before ever he saw me!"