transaction in the train
between Brussels and the German frontier."

"Ah, _mon cher_! never recall the past. It is such a very bad habit.
Live for the future, and let the past take care of itself. Just remain
perfectly confident that you run no risk in this present affair."

"What's your maid's name?"

"Rosalie Barlet."

"And she knows nothing?"

"Absolutely nothing."

I watched the neat-waisted figure in black walking a little distance
ahead of us. She was typically Parisienne, with Louis XV. shoes, and a
glimpse of smart _lingerie_ as she lifted her skirt daintily. Rather
good-looking she was, too, but with a face as bony as most of the women
of Paris, and a complexion slightly sallow.

By this time we had arrived at the entrance to the baths, where, on the
asphalte promenade, built out into the clear crystal Mediterranean, all
smart Leghorn was sitting in chairs, and gossiping beneath the awnings,
as Italians love to do.

Pancaldi's is essentially Italian. English, French, or German visitors
are rarely if ever seen, therefore the advent of the Princess, news of
whose arrival had spread from mouth to mouth but an hour ago, caused a
perceptible flutter among the lounging idlers of both sexes.

My companion was, I saw, admired on every hand, while surprise was being
expressed that I should turn out to be a friend of so very distinguished
a person.

In the brilliant sundown, with just a refreshing breath of air coming
across the glassy sea, we sat watching the antics of the swimmers and
the general merriment in the water. I lit a cigarette and gossiped with
her in French, ostentatiously emphasising the words "your Highness" when
I addressed her, for the benefit of those passing and re-passing behind
us.

For an hour she remained, and then returning to the hotel, dressed, and
dined.

As she sat with me at table that night in the handsome restaurant, she
looked superb, in pale turquoise chiffon, with a single row of diamonds
around her throat. Paste they were, of course, but none of the women who
sat with their eyes upon her even dreamed that they were anything but
the family jewels of the princely house of Dornbach-Laxenburg. Her
manner and bearing were distinctly that of a patrician, and I saw that
all in the hotel were dying to know her.

Yes, Her Highness was already a great success.

About ten o'clock she put on a wrap, and, as is usual with the guests at
the Palace, at Leghorn, we went for a brief