in excellent health; the members of the Legation were very
thoughtful in their attentions; the autumn weather was all that could be
desired; her apartments at the hotel were charming. In fact, her whole
life was rose-colored, but never a word of real news for her anxious
father and sister--nothing about gaining a pound a day. The
Governor-General hoped from the encouraging tone of the letters that she
was quietly housed, out in the borders of some primeval forest,
gradually enlarging into the fullness of perfect womanhood.

About three months after her departure, in order to reassure himself
regarding the progress in her case, he wrote a letter to the minister at
Washington. He told the minister that his child was disposed to be
unruly and that Popova had become careless and somewhat indefinite in
his reports--and would he, the minister, please write and let an anxious
parent know the actual weight of Princess Kalora?

The minister resented this manner of request. He did not feel that it
was within the duties of a high official to go out and weigh young
women, so he replied briefly that he knew no way of ascertaining the
exact weight of an acrobatic young woman who never stood still long
enough to be weighed, but he could assure the father that she was
somewhat slimmer and more petite than when she arrived in Washington a
few weeks before.

This letter slowly traveled back to Morovenia, and on the very day of
its delivery to Count Selim Malagaski, who read it aloud and then went
into a frothing paroxysm of rage, the Princess Kalora in Washington
figured in a most joyful episode.

A western millionaire, who had bought a large cubical palace on one of
the radiating avenues, was giving a dancing-party, to which the entire
blue book had been invited. Kalora went, trailed by the long-suffering
Popova. She wore her most fetching Parisian gown, and decked herself
out with wrought jewelry of quaint and heavy design, which was the envy
of all the other young women in town, and she put in a very busy night,
for she danced with army officers, and lieutenants of the navy, and one
senator, and goodness knows how many half-grown diplomats.

At two o'clock in the morning she was in the supper-room: a fairly late
hour for a young woman supposed to be leading a quiet life. The food set
before her would not have been prescribed for a tender young creature
who was dieting. She was supping riotously on stuffed olives. Her
companion w