has seen these loyal subjects offer their lives
for her and for Graustark, but utterly unable to give what they have
not--money. She asked them if she should disband the army, and there
was a negative wail from one end of the land to the other. Then the army
agreed to serve on half pay until all was tided over. Public officers
are giving their services free, and many of our wealthy people have
advanced loans on bonds, worthless as they may seem, and still we have
not the required amount."

"Cannot the loan be extended a few years?" asked Lorry, angry with the
ruler in the north, taking the woes of Graustark as much to heart as if
they were his own.

"Not one day! Not in London, Paris, nor Berlin."

Lorry lay back and allowed Anguish to lead the conversation into other
channels. The Count remained for half an hour, saying as he left that
the Princess and his wife had expressed a desire to be remembered to
their guests.

"Her Royal Highness spent the evening with the ministers of finance and
war, and her poor head, I doubt not, is racking from the effects of
the consultation. These are weighty matters for a girl to have on her
hands," solemnly stated the Count, pausing for an instant at the door of
the apartment.

After he had closed it the Americans looked long and thoughtfully at
each other, each feeling a respect for the grim old gentleman that they
had never felt for man before.

"So they are in a devil of a shape," mused Anguish. "I tell you, Gren, I
never knew anything that made me feel so badly as does the trouble that
hangs over that girl and her people. A week ago I wouldn't have cared a
rap for Graustark, but to-night I feel like weeping for her."

"There seems to be no help for her, either," said Lorry, reflectively.

"Graustark, you mean?"

"No--I mean yes, of course,--who else?" demanded the other, who
certainly had not meant Graustark.

"I believe, confound your selfish soul, you'd like to see the nation,
the crown and everything else taken away from this helpless, harrassed
child. Then you'd have a chance," exclaimed Anguish, pacing the floor,
half angrily, half encouragingly.

"Don't say that, Harry, don't say that. Don't accuse me of it, for I'll
confess I had in my heart that meanest of longings--the selfish, base,
heartless hope that you have guessed. It hurts me to be accused of it
though, so don't do it again, old man. I'll put away the miserable
hope, if I can, and I'll pray God that s