ertainly not--there," she added in a low voice.

They moved on slowly together to a copse of willows which overhung the
miniature stream.

"You are not staying long in Alstadt?" she said.

"No; I only came to see the old town that my ancestors came from."

They were walking so close together that her skirt brushed his trousers,
but she suddenly drew away from him, and looking him fixedly in the eye
said:

"Ah, you have relations here?"

"Yes, but they are dead two hundred years."

She laughed again with a slight expression of relief. They had entered
the copse and were walking in dense shadow when she suddenly stopped and
sat down upon a rustic bench. To his surprise he found that they were
quite alone.

"Tell me about these relatives," she said, slightly drawing aside her
skirt to make room for him on the seat.

He did not require a second invitation. He not only told her all about
his ancestral progenitors, but, I fear, even about those more recent and
more nearly related to him; about his own life, his vocation--he was a
clever newspaper correspondent with a roving commission--his ambitions,
his beliefs and his romance.

"And then, perhaps, of this visit--you will also make 'copy'?"

He smiled at her quick adaptation of his professional slang, but shook
his head.

"No," he said gravely. "No--this is YOU. The CHICAGO INTERVIEWER is big
pay and is rich, but it hasn't capital enough to buy you from me."

He gently slid his hand toward hers and slipped his fingers softly
around it. She made a slight movement of withdrawal, but even then--as
if in forgetfulness or indifference--permitted her hand to rest
unresponsively in his. It was scarcely an encouragement to gallantry,
neither was it a rejection of an unconscious familiarity.

"But you haven't told me about yourself," he said.

"Oh, I," she returned, with her first approach to coquetry in a laugh
and a sidelong glance, "of what importance is that to you? It is the
Grand Duchess and Her Highness the Princess that you Americans seek to
know. I am--what I am--as you see."

"You bet," said Hoffman with charming decision.

"I WHAT?"

"You ARE, you know, and that's good enough for me, but I don't even know
your name."

She laughed again, and after a pause, said: "Elsbeth."

"But I couldn't call you by your first name on our first meeting, you
know."

"Then you Americans are really so very formal--eh?" she said slyly,
looking at her imprisoned han