Chapter X: A Damsel in Distress

Nice was looking its loveliest, but to Usk, making his way along the Promenade des Anglais in the direction of the Villa Bougainvillea, it was not lovely at all. He was uneasy and troubled in mind, and thoroughly out of tune with his surroundings, and with the gay groups of well-dressed people he met. The palms and the sunshine, the blue sea and the white houses set in flowers and greenery, all jarred with his mood. Not another word had reached him from Félicia herself or from Maimie, but although he had only arrived the night before, there had been time to learn that the Baron von Neuburg now divided his abundant leisure and his _petits soins_ between the Grand-Duchess Sonya and a beautiful American girl who was staying with the fascinating grass-widow, Mrs van Zyl. Even now, as he turned into one of the side-avenues, in order to reach the smart white house nestling in its groves of orange- and lemon-trees, he met a motor-car of the latest and most elaborate construction, and recognised in the two men who occupied it, disguised as they were by huge spectacles and mackintosh coats and caps, King Michael and Captain Andreivics. He saw a meaning glance pass between them as they returned his salute, and he walked on faster, reaching the villa quickly enough to find the two ladies who had shared the drive still lingering on the rose-hung piazza in front of the house. They wore businesslike dust-proof gowns, edged and faced with highly decorated leather, and their faces were hidden by long gauze veils crossed behind and tied, French fashion, under the chin, but Félicia’s exquisite figure was unmistakable, and Usk mounted the steps without waiting for an invitation. He was received with a little shriek.

“Well, now, I was sort of expecting you!” cried Félicia. “It’s just wonderful how one’s friends find one out. Sadie, this is Viscount Usk, the son of the kind folks that have been boarding Maimie and me all winter.”

A kind of chill ran through Usk’s veins. “She hasn’t even told the woman of our engagement!” he said to himself.

“Awfully good of you to come so soon!” said Mrs van Zyl, a small, sharp-featured woman with artificially bleached hair and a high voice. “I guess we must change these horrid gowns now, but maybe you’ll _five o’cloquer_ with us this afternoon. I know there are just about three hundred people coming.”

“You are very kind,” said Usk, then he turned to Félicia. “I will come at any time when it is convenient for _you_ to see me,” he said pointedly.

“Well, I don’t see but you can do that at tea,” she replied.

“Say, Lord Usk, we can’t have you monopolise Miss Steinherz!” cried Mrs van Zyl. “She’s just about the most popular girl in Nice, and she’s getting fresh invitations all the time.”

“I won’t detain her long,” said Usk, not offering to withdraw.

“Ah, you’re bringing some message from your mother!” said Félicia. “You come this afternoon, any way, and I’ll see you have a chance to deliver it.”

Usk accepted his dismissal, and went away, in no wise comforted. He said nothing to his uncle or aunt of the reception he had met with, but in the afternoon he returned to the Villa Bougainvillea with absolute punctuality, determined to come to an understanding with Félicia. He was shown into a small room, which was apparently the private boudoir of the mistress of the house, so full was it of the rococo and the bizarre. Presently Félicia glided in, in a wonderful shimmering tea-gown of heliotrope shot with silver, and partly veiled with long falling scarves of filmy lace, and Usk noticed with a pang that her whole face and bearing seemed to have changed. There had been a starved look about her at Llandiarmid, as if the cold northern air and the simple life of the Castle had afflicted her with actual pinching hunger, but here she was evidently in her element. The luxury of the surroundings, the curious and costly objects which over-filled every corner, seemed only a fitting frame for her beauty. Her face was calmer and softer in outline, and her voice had lost its sharp tone as she said, laying a little hand lightly on Usk’s arm--

“Are you awfully mad with me, Usk?”

It would be brutal to say that he was, and moreover, Usk was conscious that his anger seemed to have melted away. It was impossible to cherish it in the presence of those speaking eyes, that caressing hand.

“Oh, Fay, Fay!” he cried, catching her in his arms. “I knew it was all right really. I knew you didn’t mean to be so horribly unkind.”

“Unkind? to you? Oh, Usk!” Félicia dropped her head on his shoulder for an instant, then raised it hastily and felt surreptitiously at her hair.

“Well, you were, you know. It nearly broke my heart this morning when I saw you hadn’t told Mrs van Zyl that we were engaged.”

“But I did tell her, Usk, only she’s real mad about it. They all beg and entreat me not to make it public just yet on account of the claim. Sadie is ready to swear that the Emperor won’t ever entertain it if he thinks I’m provided for now. The only chance is to have myself appear as a wealthy heiress entirely at my own disposal.”

“And so you throw me over to deceive your father’s people?”

“I don’t throw you over. I just ask you to wait and not announce our engagement for the present. That can’t hurt you, any way.”

“It does hurt me very much to see you encouraging King Michael.”

“Encouraging him? because Sadie and I went for a ride on his automobile? You get one, and we’ll come with you.”

“It’s not that. There’s an idea that he will marry you if your claim is substantiated.”

“Do tell! I’m real grateful to his Majesty. Well, Usk, I’m not responsible for any plans he and Maimie may have fixed up together, but I haven’t ever said a single word to him about any such thing, nor he to me.”

“Then you are not thinking of marrying him, even if by some miracle the Emperor should persuade your father’s people to recognise you?”

“I’ve imagined all the time that I was thinking of marrying you. No, Usk, I won’t make any pledges. I’m going to have you trust me.” She laid her white arms, from which the hanging sleeves fell back, round his neck. “If you don’t feel like it, say so, and I’ll set you free this moment, but if you’re the right kind of a man, you’ll believe in me.”

“I do believe in you,” said Usk hoarsely, kissing first one wrist and then the other; “but don’t make it harder for me than you can help, Fay.”

“I’ll make it just as hard as I can,” laughed Félicia, stepping back, “to punish you for doubting me at all. I shall fairly admire to test your faith and see what it’s worth, so just remember that when you find things in a snarl. You do trust me?”

“I do, absolutely.”

“Good boy! And you’ll defend me against the nasty suspicious things your uncle says? It’s real kind of him to be so anxious to secure me in the family, but I don’t feel like gratifying him just yet.”

“But you won’t encourage the King? It’s that which makes him----”

“I won’t promise not to go riding with him, if that’s what you mean. Sadie will go around with me everywhere, you needn’t be afraid. She knows what it is to be a chaperon in Europe, and she’ll do her duty to the death. And now I guess we’ve had just about enough high-falutin’. But before we go in the _salon_, just look at these patterns for our dominos for the _corso_ Tuesday. Don’t you think this shade of heliotrope is quite too sweet for anything?” She held it up to her face.

“It’s a pretty colour,” said Usk hesitatingly. “But, Fay----”

“And we’re going to fix up the carriage with those light-purple anemones--just a mass of them. I wanted hepaticas--you can get real nice shades in them, a much pinker purple, you know--but every one says they wouldn’t last above an hour. Don’t you think it’ll be awfully elegant?”

“But surely you aren’t going? Your mourning----”

“Silly boy! don’t you call this mourning?” She flourished the heliotrope silk before his eyes. “But maybe, if you are very good and unexacting beforehand, I won’t go. I’d just as lief see it from a window. Now mind, I won’t have you trail me around everywhere. You’ll get your turn with the rest, but it don’t do to be covetous.”

It was with some misgivings that Usk followed her to the _salon_, which was full of people, of a type with which he had not hitherto had much acquaintance. The ladies were mostly Americans, either sojourning in Europe without their husbands, like Mrs van Zyl, or married to Continental noblemen of various nationalities. There was a sprinkling of these gentlemen present, but most of the men were unencumbered by domestic ties, and purely cosmopolitan, the product of the modern health resort. Originally French, Brazilian, or Hungarian by race, they had travelled so much in search of sport or distraction that the whole civilised world was equally dull to them, and the only place which was still able to kindle a spark of excitement in their breasts was Monte Carlo. With them the talk was of the tables or of pigeon-shooting, while the ladies preferred generally to discuss flowers and fancy dresses. Lent fell late this year, so that although it was the middle of March, the last days of the Carnival were still to come, and every one was on the alert to discover what her neighbour was going to wear.

Usk left the villa before any of the other guests, meeting King Michael on the threshold as he did so. The two young men eyed one another with unfriendly glances. Each resented the other’s presence, without having the right to object to it; but Usk noticed uneasily that the King walked straight into the hall, and that Maimie, looking more eager and anxious than ever, in a sprightly black-and-white gown, fluttered out to meet him, and took him into the little boudoir whither he himself had been conducted only an hour before. His uncle’s words recurred to him, but he set his teeth. “She has asked me to trust her, and I will--I do,” he repeated.

It was natural, perhaps, that Cyril should not be so ready to accept this view of the case. When Usk entered the _appartement_ at the Hôtel des Rois, which had been taken in the names of Lord and Lady Cyril Mortimer, he was met by the secretary Paschics, who said that his uncle wished to see him as soon as he came in. Usk was not at all anxious to see his uncle, and his misgivings returned sharply upon him as he sought him on the balcony of their sitting-room.

“Well, have you had any talk with Félicia?” asked Cyril.

“Just a little. I only had her to myself for a minute or two.”

“And is she willing to have the engagement announced?”

“Well, no; not just yet. She has got some idea that it would prejudice her claim if it was known.”

“Then you have broken it off?”

“Rather not. I have agreed to keep it private a little longer.”

“In fact,” said Cyril, with slow scorn, “you set out to end an anomalous state of things, and then agree to perpetuate it. You bind yourself and leave her free, though it’s perfectly clear that she is merely keeping you on as a last resource in case she loses Michael.”

“It’s nothing of the kind,” said Usk. “She has no thought of Michael--she told me so herself.”

“You are in love with love,” said Cyril bitterly, “and honour, and self-sacrifice, and all the other things of which Miss Steinherz knows no more than she does of good taste. Don’t you see the girl’s fooling you?”

“It may look like that to you, but you don’t know her as I do. She’s playing for a great stake, and she shall have her chance. I won’t let her be able to say that she would have won if I had not baulked her. She won’t win, of course, but at least it won’t be my fault, and she will leave off thinking about it, and we shall be all right.”

“She is nothing but an adventuress who can’t make up her mind to burn her boats.”

Usk turned very white. “You have no right to say that of the lady who has promised to marry me,” he said.

“I beg your pardon; I ought not to have thought aloud. It is a bad habit that has grown on me of late. My dear Usk, if she had promised to marry you I should see daylight. As it is, she may have promised and she may not. Can you assert a promise if the lady sees fit to deny it?”

“She won’t deny it. And, anyhow, it’s a thing that only affects me. I am satisfied to wait until she chooses to announce our engagement, and I don’t see what any one else has to do with it.”

“In other words, I am to mind my own business. But, unfortunately, this is my business, though I assure you no one can regret it more than I do. I have just heard that the Grand-Duke and Duchess of Schwarzwald-Molzau are on their way here. He is Michael’s uncle, and it is quite natural that he should be frightened by the reports about the Grand-Duchess Sonya, and come to find out the truth for himself, but I haven’t a doubt that he is also commissioned to inquire into Félicia’s affair on behalf of the Emperor of Pannonia, his brother-in-law. They have come to the conclusion that her claim is a serious one, and he is to see if she is presentable, and whether she can be bought off. Now, suppose Michael takes it into his head to say that he will marry Sonya Eugenovna unless he is allowed to marry Félicia, what am I to do? No one would expect me to help him to cut out one of my own family, but I am not allowed to say she is engaged to you. I tell you frankly I should very much prefer to eliminate you from the matter, for you and she are not in the least suited to one another; but it seems that you object to that. It’s what I should like best of all to see Félicia engaged to Michael, and her fortune made useful in re-establishing Thracian credit, and yet I must invent obstacles to prevent it. Of course the usual convenient fiction of the overmastering avarice and ambition of the Mortimer family will come to the front, and I shall be accused of plotting to engineer Félicia into a marriage with you for the sake of her money, and putting her up to this preposterous claim of hers in order to strengthen my position by an alliance with royalty. Pleasant, very!”

“I’m awfully sorry, but you can hardly expect me----”

“To renounce your _fiancée_ in order to spare my battered reputation a few more knocks? I quite see that. Oh, don’t think I blame you. Here am I groping helplessly to try and find the thread of affairs which I could once have worked out in my sleep, and losing my temper with you over it. It’s that which drives me wild.”

He rose hastily, and left the balcony by the farther window, and Usk, feeling perplexed and somewhat guilty, returned into the sitting-room, where Queen Ernestine was writing at the table.

“Don’t trouble your uncle more than you can help, Usk,” she said, looking up. “He is very much worried just now.”

“It’s not my fault----” began Usk indignantly. Then he stopped, and fidgeted awkwardly with the inkstand. “I don’t want to bother you, or to do anything rude,” he broke out; “but if you could say a word or two to the King! Of course it’s only natural he should admire her, and that she should be pleased, but--well, you see how it is. I don’t think I’m jealous generally, but it really is rather rough on a man. And it’s just the uncertainty that’s weighing on Uncle Cyril, too. Don’t you think--is there any reason why the King shouldn’t marry this Scythian Princess?”

The Queen looked almost terrified. “You don’t understand,” she said. “It is not that we could have any objection to Sonya herself; it is simply that the marriage is being pressed on by my cousin, the Princess of Dardania, for her own purposes. She has hated your uncle for many years, and she hates me because I am his wife. It was her influence which banished your uncle from Thracia, and led to the present troubles. To see Michael delivered over to her again---- No, I must fight to the end against that.”

“I’m sorry,” said Usk. “I only thought--well, if he was married to some one else, you see, there would be no excuse for these women to persuade Félicia that he was after her. That’s what it is, you know. It’s not her fault, it’s theirs. They get round her and make her think that he really means something, and she doesn’t know----”

“That he is only amusing himself?” supplied the Queen, as he paused. “Oh, Usk, I see your trouble, and I will do anything I can to help you. I fear it might not be much use to speak to Michael, but if we could only see him happily married! There is just a chance that he might take to the Schwarzwald-Molzaus’ youngest daughter, who is coming here with them. But she is a mere child, only confirmed last year, and I could not wish them to marry unless they loved one another. I am afraid I have been indiscreet in speaking of it, but it would smooth your path, wouldn’t it? Indeed I will help you if I can.”

She held out her hand mechanically, and Usk kissed it, in the way he had learned from his uncle. The Queen laughed.

“I ought to play my part better by this time, at any rate in my own family, ought I not?” she said. “Are you going to see that poor Mr Nicholson, Usk? If there is anything he would like, flowers or fruit, or books, you will tell me, won’t you? It seems sad to be so ill away from home, and all alone.”

Nicholson was a college friend of Usk’s, who was now at Nice as a hopeless invalid. Usk had not cared for him particularly at Cambridge, but had been startled and touched to meet him in the hall that morning, and learn that he was alone save for a servant. Nicholson himself protested that the Riviera had done him no end of good, and that he was going to join in the Carnival gaieties on Shrove Tuesday, but his appearance made the words seem a bitter mockery.

“Thanks awfully,” said Usk. “I was just going to sit with him a bit, and I’m sure he’ll think it tremendously kind of you. I was wondering whether I might ask him in to tea one afternoon? I thought he would like to talk to you a little. He doesn’t know in the least who you are, of course, but his people don’t seem to realise how ill he is, any more than he does himself, and there seems to be no one----”

“I understand. Yes, of course, ask him to come in to-morrow if he feels well enough, and we will take care not to invite any one else.”

Usk took his departure, and spent an hour with his sick friend, whose society was harrowing enough, owing to the ghastly contrast between his plans and ambitions and his state of health. But there was a reward for Usk when he returned to his own room, for a tiny note was awaiting him from Félicia. It was written with purple ink upon paper of a lighter shade, and perfumed with heliotrope--all the very latest Parisian fancy of the moment--but Usk tore it open without a glance at anything but the direction.

“Dear Boy,” it ran, “Did you think me awfully mean this afternoon? This is to make up. I have told Sadie that I am just not going to the _fêtes_ Tuesday, but I haven’t told her that I am coming riding with you instead. I am, if you ask me nicely.--Yours,

Félicia.”

Naturally, the only thing to do on receiving such a letter was to hasten to secure the smartest possible vehicle for a long country drive. But Usk found to his dismay that not a single proprietor would let out a carriage of any description on the day mentioned save for use at the Carnival, and he was obliged to invite himself to tea at the villa instead. Félicia pouted when he told her of the change, and kept him for some time in anxiety as to whether she would allow him to come or not, averring that the ideal lover would have purchased a complete turn-out rather than disappoint his mistress of the drive on which she had set her heart. Usk pleaded that he had not the money, whereupon she retorted that an American would have made the purchase on credit, and resold the cart and horse at a profit immediately afterwards, thus combining business with pleasure. However, she was at last induced to promise to be at home, and Usk felt his self-respect restored. He would have Félicia to himself, without the intervention of Maimie, or Mrs van Zyl, or the King, and his uncle would be forced to see that his suspicions were unfounded.

But when the Tuesday afternoon arrived, a note was brought to Usk as he sat in Nicholson’s room reading to the invalid, who had got as far as the Jardin Publique in the morning, and there discovered that his strength was at an end. This note was written with crimson ink upon rose-scented pink paper, and Usk found that it came from Mrs van Zyl. It was very short.

“Dear Lord Usk,--Félicia is real sorry to disappoint you, but she thinks it her duty not to miss such an excellent opportunity of seeing the Carnival. I wish we could have you come with us, but our carriage is full.--Yours truly,

Sadie van Zyl.”

Usk crushed the note angrily in his hand when he had glanced at it. Of course it might mean no more than that Félicia was to view the Carnival procession from a window, but he felt almost certain that she would don fancy dress and join in all the gaiety that offered itself. And who was to occupy the fourth seat in the carriage? Only one answer suggested itself--King Michael. Usk fought against the conviction in vain. At last he stood up, and spoke hurriedly to Nicholson, who had been watching him curiously.

“I’m off. I shall go and see what all the foolery is like, anyhow.”

“Disappointed of your tea-party?” laughed the invalid, his worn face elfish, almost malicious. “But you can’t go down into the thick of the fun in those things. You’ll be mobbed. Look here, you wear the togs I ordered for myself--we’re about the same height. Ring for Jenkins, and he’ll bring them. I was going as the typical Englishman of French caricature. Now then, there you are. Don’t forget the whiskers, mind.”

“They aren’t the right colour for me,” said Usk, tossing down the long Dundreary whiskers which had been selected to match Nicholson’s sandy hair. “I’m sure I shall look enough of an ass without them. Where in the world did you get such checks?”

“Horse-blanket,” responded Nicholson, breathlessly but proudly. “Tasty, isn’t it? I thought when I chose it I should make a sensation, but now I know what the French believe about us, I’m certain it will fall flat. People will only say, ‘That English fellow has no business to come in his ordinary clothes.’”

“Ordinary!” gasped Usk, from the adjoining room, where he was arraying himself rapidly in the scarlet and yellow checked knickerbockers, the orange tawny Norfolk jacket, the golf-stockings combining all the colours of the rainbow, and the aggressive sun-helmet, surrounded by a white puggaree striped with red and blue, which Nicholson considered would enable the French populace to identify the typical Englishman so dear to their hearts. Football boots and an alpenstock completed the costume, and when Usk had donned the orthodox velvet mask, Nicholson lay back upon his pillows, and laughed and coughed until the tears ran down his cheeks.

“I wouldn’t have missed it for anything,” he gasped. “I shouldn’t have realised the effect half as well on myself. You might have stepped out of ‘Le Rire,’ except for your modest air of uneasiness. Swagger a bit, and grind your teeth. Walk as if the whole earth belonged to you. And do put on the whiskers. They’ll look all the funnier with your dark moustache.”

But this last sacrifice to appearances Usk declined to make, and after Nicholson had reminded him to provide himself with a good bag of confetti and a tin scoop, he crept downstairs, hoping fervently not to meet any one he knew, and went out by the side door of the hotel, whence he found his way easily to the Old Town and into the main stream of gaiety. His sole idea had been to look for Félicia, to convince himself that she had deliberately broken her promise to him, or perhaps to have the delight of finding that Mrs van Zyl and Maimie were joining in the fun without her. But once in the whirling, ever-changing throng, he soon recognised that there was little hope of finding any one. Strangers accosted him, rallied him on his loneliness, invited him to join them. Confetti flew about in showers, small hard bouquets hurtled through the air from the decorated carriages as they passed, and the phantasmagoria of sound and colour fleeted and shifted every moment. Overhead, against the glowing blue of the sky, were strings of fluttering flags and wreaths of evergreen; a little lower, windows and shop-fronts were garlanded and decked with bright-hued stuffs; the lofty cars which lurched past vied with one another in the richness of their colour-schemes and the _bizarrerie_ of their mechanical devices; small foot-soldiers and dragoons on prancing steeds were pressed hither and thither in valiant attempts to keep a line. There were people in the road, people on the pavement, people in every door and window, people on the roofs. Bands blared, maskers hissed, cackled, hooted, neighed, yelled; imperious policemen forced their way along with the word “_circulez_” on their lips, although to obey was obviously impossible. People entangled each other in long paper streamers, banged each other with bladders, knocked off each other’s headgear, poked confetti down each other’s collars, all in high good-humour, and amid shrieks of laughter. Dominos of every possible colour and shade of colour, Pierrots and Pierrettes of every degree of inanity, debased national and historical costumes of every country and every era, eddied round Usk, but he tried in vain to distinguish any figure that he knew. Anxious and troubled as he was, he had soon had enough of the scene, but he kept his temper, and flung his confetti with the best, until they were exhausted. By this time he had managed to traverse almost the entire route of the procession, and he turned to retrace his steps. As he did so, he noticed a band of men with false noses, who seemed to be chaffing some one in their midst. As Usk was carried close to them by the crowd, he saw that the centre of attraction was a girl in German peasant costume. Her hair hung in two thick plaits below her waist, and in her short skirts she looked little more than a child. Her stiff little round cap had been tweaked off by one of the group surrounding her, two more had possessed themselves of the ribbons from her hair, and were announcing that they would wear them next their hearts for ever after, and another had pulled the knitting from her apron-pocket and was drawing out the pins. The girl herself was clinging with both hands to her mask, in evident though unnecessary terror that it would be the next thing torn from her, and gazing round like a hunted hare for a way of escape. With an inarticulate exclamation, Usk pushed his way into the circle. Whoever the girl might be, her terror and distress were obvious, and he could not see her tormented by this rabble. To his utter astonishment, as soon as her eyes fell on him, she darted forward and seized his arm.

“Oh, you have come at last!” she cried in English. “It has seemed so long!”

“The fair Gretchen has found a cavalier!” laughed one of the tormentors.

“May they be happy!” cried another, and in the shower of confetti which followed, Usk made his escape, the girl still clinging to his arm. She was shaking from head to foot, and he managed to drag her into a doorway, while he stood before her to protect her from the crowd. Presently a small meek voice said--

“Please forgive me. I ought not to have pretended I knew you, but I was so frightened.” The tears were raining down.

“Oh, never mind,” said Usk cheerfully, wondering how this child had been allowed out by herself. “They wouldn’t have hurt you really, you know. Shall we wait here and watch for your people?”

“I don’t know where they are, and papa will be so angry.”

“Why? Did you come out without his knowing?”

“Oh no. I was with him, and I wanted to hold his arm, and he wouldn’t let me. He said I made him look absurd,” a sob. “But I knew we could not keep together if I let go, and we were separated in a moment.”

“All right. Don’t cry. I’ll take you home at once if you like. Your father will guess you’ve gone back. Where are you staying?”

“At the Hôtel des Rois. But please don’t allow me to trouble you.”

“It’s no trouble at all. I’m staying there too.”

“Oh, are you? But I didn’t see you at breakfast. It was so nice seeing all the people, and trying to guess who they were.”

“I am with my uncle and aunt, and they prefer to have their meals upstairs.”

“So do papa and mamma. How droll! But it is my birthday to-day, and mamma allowed me to breakfast on the terrace, for a treat. You are English, aren’t you? When those horrid men all came round me, I thought, ‘Oh, if only I could see a German or an Englishman!’”

“You ought to be careful,” said Usk sagely. They were walking through a quiet street by this time, on their way back to the hotel. “There are a good many shady characters about.”

“Shady? I don’t know that word. But it means dark, dangerous--is it not so? But I could see you were not like that, of course.”

“I’m glad I was labelled English and harmless to the foreign eye,” said Usk. “I shouldn’t have thought myself that this get-up would have inspired confidence.”

“What strange words you use. One judges people by their faces, not by their get-ups--is that the word?”

“There isn’t very much of my face visible to judge by.”

“Ah, one can judge a good deal by the general outline,” said the girl confidently. “Oh, is your uncle the poor sick Englishman I met in the gardens this morning?”

“No; that’s a friend of mine.”

“I was so sorry for him, because I have been ill so much myself. When I was a little girl I almost died every winter.”

“But you look all right now.”

“I am quite well, thank you, but mamma lived up in the mountains with me for two whole years, that I might become strong. I was her baby, you see.” Usk smiled involuntarily, the remark sounded so naïve. “Franz, my next brother, was ten years old when I was born, and all the rest are much older. I am even younger than two of my nephews, the Princes of Schreckingen.”

“Surely you must be the Princess of Schwarzwald-Molzau?” asked Usk diffidently.

“The little Princess they call me, or Princess Lenchen. At least they used to do that, but now papa says I am always to be called the Princess Helene. I am grown-up, you see, but I don’t feel as if I were. When I was confirmed I thought there would surely be a difference, that I should feel grown-up, but I don’t, and it displeases papa. He used to laugh at the things I said, and say, ‘How does the child get such things into her head?’ but now he is angry, and says, ‘Will that child never grow up?’”

She spoke so dolorously that Usk laughed. “You’ll be grown-up quite soon enough,” he said. “I don’t know what to call you--your Grand-Ducal Highness?”

“I do not know yet who you are,” she replied, with a quaint little air of dignity.

“Probably you’ll know my uncle’s name better than mine--Count Mortimer.”

“Oh, then we are cousins!” she exclaimed in delight. “At least we have the same aunt. She was married first to my uncle, you know.”

“And now she is married to mine. Does that make her more my aunt or yours?”

“Ah, but she is my mother’s cousin as well.”

“That gives you the advantage, certainly.”

“But does it make Count Mortimer my uncle? I am so anxious to know that, and I am afraid to ask papa. He--he doesn’t----”

“Care for the connection? None of you do, I suppose. But I think you’ll like it better when you know my uncle.”

“Like it? I wish him to be my uncle!” she cried. “You do not know; but since he came to Molzau for my sister Theudelinde’s wedding, four years ago, and I heard all about him, I have--oh, I do not know the English word--_geschwärmt_ for him. What is it that you do to a great poet, or painter, or any great man?”

“Admire him?” suggested Usk.

“Oh no, no! You admire a horse. Have you no sisters? Did they not set up some hero’s photograph and place flowers in front of it, and watch for any mention of his name, and long to obtain his autograph?”

“Now you mention it, I believe Phil--that’s my sister--did have a severe attack of hero-worship some years ago. It was about the time Lord Williams came home from Africa.”

“Lord Williams? Oh, I know--Bills!”

“And you pretend not to understand slang!”

“I am sorry. I have heard my English cousins speak of him so much, and they told me it was considered quite wrong in England to call him anything else. Then what is the word?”

“Adore, I should think. Or I know a girl, an American”--Usk’s face clouded again as he thought of Félicia--“who would say she enthused over him.”

“Enthused? That is a good word. Well, then, I enthused over Count Mortimer. I found a portrait of him in an illustrated paper--one of my English cousins was staying with us, and her lady had brought it--and I cut it out, and had it framed. I put it up in my room, and made a wreath of green leaves for it on the dear Count’s birthday, and no one was allowed to dust it but myself. Mamma laughed at me, but when the trouble came, and your uncle left Thracia, you know, she told me I had better take it down, lest papa should see it and be angry. So I took it down, and laid it in a drawer, and looked at it every day; but when the Count married Aunt Ernestine, I thought papa could not mind, and I put it up again. But when he saw it he was--oh, I cannot tell you how angry! and he broke the glass and tore up the portrait. But do you know what I shall do now? I shall ask Aunt Ernestine to give me a photograph of him and write my name on it herself. Papa couldn’t tear that up, could he?”

“Far be it from me to say what papa couldn’t or wouldn’t do!” returned Usk, almost helpless with laughter, as they mounted the steps of the Hôtel des Rois. The girl turned to look at him reproachfully, so that Usk saw before she did an elderly gentleman, in a high state of excitement, standing in the middle of the hall, and apparently giving orders to the whole staff of the hotel in an imperious style, which contrasted ludicrously with his peasant dress and the mask which was pushed up on his forehead.

“Communicate with the police instantly!” he was saying, with a strong German accent. “They could do nothing, you say? But I insist upon it. What! is my daughter to be torn from my side and kidnapped with impunity?”

“I am here, dear papa,” said the Princess Helene meekly. “I lost my way, and this--this kind English gentleman brought me home.”

Still spluttering and choking, the Grand-Duke turned round, and glared at his daughter as if he was angry with her for being brought back. Then he turned again to wave his hand majestically, and when the waiters had fled, allowed his gaze to rest upon Usk, who became once more painfully conscious of his attire. “I am obliged to you, sir,” said the Grand-Duke coldly.

“Papa,” whispered his daughter, anxious to improve matters, “it is Aunt Ernestine’s nephew.” She shrank from the look she received as if from a blow.

“You are the nephew of Count Mortimer, sir, I understand? The Count is a worthy man, and at one time did good service to my house. I am glad you follow in his footsteps.” And the Grand-Duke led his daughter away.