able copper-colored tresses, trim figure,
delicate complexion, and refined features of the friend of my youth! I
seized my hat, but by the time I had reached the road, they had
disappeared.

The utter impossibility of its being Sarah Walker herself, and the
glaring fact that the very coincidence of name would be inconsistent
with any conventional descent from the original Sarah, I admit confused
me. But I examined the book of the Kronprinzen-Hof and the other
hotels, and questioned my portier. There was no "Mees" nor "Madame
Walkiere" extant in Rolandseck. Yet might not Monsieur have heard
incorrectly? The Czara Walka was evidently Russian, and Rolandseck was
a resort for Russian princes. But pardon! Did Monsieur really mean
the young demoiselle now approaching? Ah! that was a different affair.
She was the daughter of the Italian Prince and Princess Monte Castello
staying here. The lady with her was not the Princess, but a foreign
friend. The gentleman was the Prince. Would he present Monsieur's
card?

They were entering the hotel. The Prince was a little,
inoffensive-looking man, the lady an evident countrywoman of my own,
and the child--was, yet was NOT, Sarah! There was the face, the
outline, the figure--but the life, the verve, the audacity, was
wanting! I could contain myself no longer.

"Pardon an inquisitive compatriot, madam," I said; "but I heard you a
few moments ago address this young lady by the name of a very dear
young friend, whom I knew twenty years ago--Sarah Walker. Am I right?"

The Prince stopped and gazed at us both with evident affright; then
suddenly recognizing in my freedom some wild American indecorum,
doubtless provoked by the presence of another of my species, which he
really was not expected to countenance, retreated behind the portier.
The circumstance by no means increased the good-will of the lady, as
she replied somewhat haughtily:--

"The Principessina is named Sarah Walker, after her mother's maiden
name."

"Then this IS Sarah Walker's daughter!" I said joyfully.

"She is the daughter of the Prince and Princess of Monte Castello,"
corrected the lady frigidly.

"I had the pleasure of knowing her mother very well." I stopped and
blushed. Did I really know Sarah Walker very well? And would Sarah
Walker know me now? Or would it not be very like her to go back on me?
There was certainly anything but promise in the feeble-minded, vacuous
copy of Sarah before me.