ed the traveller, 'very likely. I am one who goes sniffing; I
am no poet. I believe in a better future for the world; or, at all
accounts, I do most potently disbelieve in the present. Rotten eggs is
the burthen of my song. But indeed, your Highness, when I meet with any
merit, I do not think that I am slow to recognise it. This is a day that
I shall still recall with gratitude, for I have found a sovereign with
some manly virtues; and for once--old courtier and old radical as I
am--it is from the heart and quite sincerely that I can request the
honour of kissing your Highness's hand?'

'Nay, sir,' said Otto, 'to my heart!'

And the Englishman, taken at unawares, was clasped for a moment in the
Prince's arms.

'And now, sir,' added Otto, 'there is the Pheasant House; close behind it
you will find my carriage, which I pray you to accept. God speed you to
Vienna!'

'In the impetuosity of youth,' replied Sir John, 'your Highness has
overlooked one circumstance. I am still fasting.'

'Well, sir,' said Otto, smiling, 'you are your own master; you may go or
stay. But I warn you, your friend may prove less powerful than your
enemies. The Prince, indeed, is thoroughly on your side; he has all the
will to help; but to whom do I speak?--you know better than I do, he is
not alone in Grunewald.'

'There is a deal in position,' returned the traveller, gravely nodding.
'Gondremark loves to temporise; his policy is below ground, and he fears
all open courses; and now that I have seen you act with so much spirit, I
will cheerfully risk myself on your protection. Who knows? You may be
yet the better man.'

'Do you indeed believe so?' cried the Prince. 'You put life into my
heart!'

'I will give up sketching portraits,' said the Baronet. 'I am a blind
owl; I had misread you strangely. And yet remember this; a sprint is one
thing, and to run all day another. For I still mistrust your
constitution; the short nose, the hair and eyes of several complexions;
no, they are diagnostic; and I must end, I see, as I began.'

'I am still a singing chambermaid?' said Otto.

'Nay, your Highness, I pray you to forget what I had written,' said Sir
John; 'I am not like Pilate; and the chapter is no more. Bury it, if you
love me.'

CHAPTER IV--WHILE THE PRINCE IS IN THE ANTE-ROOM . . .

Greatly comforted by the exploits of the morning, the Prince turned
towards the Princess's ante-room, bent on a more difficult enterpr