was a saddler. Tell him so, Miss Vance. Tell him the
exact facts. I want no disclosures after----"

"After marriage?" said Jean, rising suddenly. "Then you have decided?"

"I have not said that I had decided," replied Lucy calmly.

Jean laughed. "He will not be scared by the saddler. Europeans of his
order take no account of our American class distinctions. They look
upon us as low-born parvenues, all alike. They weigh and value us by
other standards than birth."

"I have money, if you mean that, Jean," said Lucy cheerfully.

"I think you had better go away, girls, if you have finished your
dejeuner. He may be here at any moment now," said Clara, looking
anxiously at her watch.

Lucy went to her little chamber and sat down to work at a monstrous
caricature which she was painting of the church. Jean paced up and
down the stone corridor, looking out of the window into the Platz.

"He has come," she said excitedly, appearing at Lucy's door. "He went
into the church first, to say an ave for help, poor little man! His
fat face is quite pale and stern. It is a matter of life and death to
him. And it's no more to you than the choosing of a new coat."

Lucy smiled and sketched in a priest on the church steps. Her hand
shook, but Jean could not see that. She went to the window again with
something like an inward oath at the dolts of commonplace women who had
all the best chances, but was back in a moment, laughing nervously.

"Do you know he has on that old brown suit?" She leaned against the
jamb of the door. "If I were a prince, and came a-wooing, I would have
troops of my Jagers, and trumpets and banners with the arms of my
House, and I'd wear all my decorations. Of course we Americans are
bound to say that rank and royalty are dead things. But if I had them,
I'd galvanize the corpses! If they are useful as shows, I'd make the
show worth seeing. I'd cover myself with jewels like the old
Romanoffs. You would never see Queen Jean in a slouchy alpaca and
pork-pie hat like Victoria." While her tongue chattered, her eyes
watched Lucy keenly. "You don't hear me! You are deciding what to do.
Why on earth should you hesitate? He is a gentleman--he loves you!"
and then to Lucy's relief she suddenly threw on her hat and rushed off
for a walk.

Miss Dunbar painted the priest's robe yellow, in her agitation. But
the agitation was not deep. There really seemed no reason why she
should hesitate. He