every moral
and mental quality that can dignify manhood.

"It is really a magnificent turquoise," said the Princess, gazing with
admiration at a ring the Prince had taken from his own finger to present
to her.

"How absurd is that English jealousy about foreign decorations! I was
obliged to decline the Red Cross of Massa which his Highness proposed
to confer on me. A monarchy that wants to emulate a republic is simply
ridiculous."

"You English are obliged to pay dear for your hypocrisies; and you
ought, for you really love them." And with this taunt the carriage
stopped at the door of the inn.

As Upton passed up the stairs, the waiter handed him a note, which he
hastily opened; it was from Glencore, and in these words:--

Dear Upton,--I can bear this suspense no longer; to remain here
canvassing with myself all the doubts that beset me is a torture
I cannot endure. I leave, therefore, at once for Florence. Once
there,--where I mean to see and hear for myself,--I can decide what is
to be the fate of the few days or weeks that yet remain to--Yours,

Glencore.

"He is gone, then,--his Lordship has started?"

"Yes, your Excellency, he is by this time near Lucca, for he gave orders
to have horses ready at all the stations."

"Read that, madame," said Upton, as he once more found himself alone
with the Princess; "you will see that all your plans are disconcerted.
He is off to Florence."

Madame de Sabloukoff read the note, and threw it carelessly on the
table. "He wants to forgive himself, and only hesitates how to do so
gracefully," said she, sneeringly.

"I think you are less than just to him," said Upton, mildly; "his is a
noble nature, disfigured by one grand defect."

"Your national character, like your language, is so full of
incongruities and contradictions that I am not ashamed to own myself
unequal to master it; but it strikes me that both one and the other
usurp freedoms that are not permitted to others. At all events, I am
rejoiced that he has gone. It is the most wearisome thing in life to
negotiate with one too near you. Diplomacy of even the humblest kind
requires distance."

"You agree with the duellist, I perceive," said he, laughing, "that
twelve paces is a more fatal distance than across a handkerchief:
proximity begets tremor."

"You have guessed my meaning correctly," said she; "meanwhile, I must
write to _her_ not to come here. Shall I say that we will be in Florence
in a day or t