. He was their Prince!

On came the splendid phalanx of guardsmen, followed by rigid infantrymen
in measured tread; the clattering of horses' hoofs, the beat of drums,
the clanking of scabbards and the jangling of royal banners, rising even
above the hum of eager voices. The great coach of gold, with its half
score of horses, rolled sombrely beneath nature's canopy of green,
surrounded on all sides by proud members of the Royal Guard. Word came
down the line that the Prince sat alone in the rear seat of the great
coach, facing the Prime Minister and Countess Halfont. Two carriages
from the royal stables preceded the Prince's coach. In the first was the
Duke of Perse and three fellow-members of the Cabinet; the second
contained Baron Dangloss and General Braze. After the Prince came a
score or more of rich equipages filled with the beauty, the nobility,
the splendour of this rich little court.

The curtains in a house at the corner of the square parted gently. A
hawk-faced old man peered out upon the joyous crowd. His black eyes
swept the scene. A grim smile crept into his face. He dropped the
curtains and walked away from the window, tossing a cigarette into a
grate on the opposite side of the room. Then he looked at his watch.

All of the bands in the square had ceased playing when the Castle gates
were opened for the royal procession: only the distant, rythmic beat of
a lively march came up from the avenue to the ears of this baleful old
man in the second-story front room of the home of apothecary Boltz.

At the extreme outer side of Regengetz Circus a small group of men and
women stood, white-faced and immovable, steadfastly holding a position
in the front rank of spectators. Shrinking back among this determined
coterie was the slender, shuddering figure of Olga Platanova,
haggard-faced, but with the light of desperation in her eyes.

As the procession drew nearer, the companions of this wretched girl
slunk away from her side, losing themselves in the crowd, leaving her to
do her work while they sought distant spots of safety. Olga Platanova,
her arms folded beneath the long red cloak she wore, remained where they
had placed her and--waited!

CHAPTER XVI

THE MERRY VAGABOND

The man who stood in the middle of the freight-car, looking down in
wonder at the fugitives, was a tall vagabond of the most picturesque
type. No ragamuffin was ever so tattered and torn as this rakish
individual. His clothes bar