ds.

"There are only two people in the world who could get you out of
Dornlitz by noon to-morrow--the King and the Governor."

"Exactly," said she. "And, to one of them, I shall go in the morning."

"Better try Frederick," Lotzen laughed. "He has a weak side for a
pretty woman."

(I did not look at the King--but I heard him sniff angrily.)

"No--I shall try the Governor," she returned. "He told me, one day, in
his office, that, when I acknowledged that I was not his wife and that
the marriage certificate was false, I would be permitted to leave the
Kingdom." She paused, a moment. "Does Your Highness wish me to go to
the Governor?"

I thought the Duke would weaken--but, as usual, I got a surprise.

"My dear girl," said he, "I shall be heartbroken if you leave
Valeria--but, if that is all you need to do to be free to go--and you
are not, in fact, Armand Dalberg's wife--then I am surprised that you
have not done it long ago."

She smiled, rather sadly.

"Yes, I fancy you are. I'm rather surprised myself. It would sound
queer, to some people in America, but I have actually tried, for once
in my life, to keep faith to the end. But it is as I always
thought--not worth the while. I'll know better again."

Then, she got up and, going behind her chair, leaned over the back.

"Does Your Highness realize what my going to the Governor means to
you?" she asked.

"I don't seem to be able to follow your argument," he said; "and I'm a
poor guesser of riddles."

"It means that I shall have to tell the whole ugly story of how I
chanced to come to Dornlitz to pose as the wife of the Grand Duke
Armand."

He took a fresh cigarette and carefully lit it. "But, my dear girl,"
he said, "I don't see how that would affect me?"

She laughed.

"Still the _premier artiste_! Well, play it out. If you want to hear
what you already know it's no trouble to tell you. Shall I begin at
the very beginning?"

"By all means!" said he. "Maybe, then, I can catch the point."

"Listen," said she. "For many years I have known Armand Dalberg. One
day, several months ago, there came a man to me, in the City of New
York. How he happened to find me is no matter. He spoke English
perfectly--though I thought he was a Frenchman. The name on his card
was Herbert Wilkes; but, I knew that was assumed, and I have learned,
lately, who he is. Since you, too, know, it is quite unnecessary to
repeat it. His offer to me was this: If I