His Highness's Emissary

UT, madame, you yourself must realise that Her Highness the Grand Duchess cannot be permitted to remain unwed indefinitely; there is the succession to be considered."

The speaker was an elderly man with the eyes of a hawk and the brow of a musician, the latter being deeply cleft with a portentous frown.

"Prrrt!" The lady he addressed shrugged nimble shoulders, and gestured with expressive hands. "You may realise, I may realise, mais à quoi bon if her Highness will not realise? And as to not permitting! Oh, la, la, la!" And she laughed significantly.

Count Schyrolski sighed. The burden he had borne for many years as premier minister to the grand ducal house of Stefanoff had ofttimes proved a heavy one, but never more so than at this moment, when the reigning member of the family was a beautiful young woman of nineteen—and as headstrong as she was beautiful—who could not, and would not, be brought to realise that it was her immediate duty to take unto herself a husband.

"But you, madame," continued the old minister. "You have much influence with Her Highness. Cannot you employ it to assist us in this matter of Prince Michael?"

"Prince Michael of Rubania? What affair is this, then?"

"Why, madame, His Highness urgently desires to become a suitor for the hand of our Grand Duchess, and she—flatly declines to receive the emissary he is desirous of sending to our Court to open negotiations."

"Michael of Rubania," mused the Baroness de Bréville. "One has heard much about him."

"And all to his credit," interrupted Count Schyrolski, with warmth. "He is a fine soldier, and has proved himself an admirable ruler. Since he succeeded his father, Rubania has advanced by leaps and bounds in the consideration of Europe generally. Indeed, it is a not impossible contingency that the Rubanian princely house be elevated to a monarchy ere long, by consent of the Great Powers. As you will appreciate, this would establish a strong defence against the Austrian encroachments upon the lesser Eastern states and thus"

"Phut!" interrupted the Baroness contemptuously. "What does Her Highness care for polities. Is the young man handsome, Count? Fell me that!"

"I understand he is, exceedingly, though I have never seen Prince Michael myself. But that, madame, is surely a matter of very secondary importance."

"Tout au contraire! And I suppose you quite omitted to bring forward the question of appearances when you had your audience with Her Highness?" The Count nodded, and she continued wrathfully, "I thought a much! Oh, Count, Count, were you never nineteen and in love with youth and joy and life?"

Schyrolski's shaggy eyebrows contracted over the keen old eyes beneath. "Yes, madame, once—long ago. But I have, alas! been out of love with all those beautiful things you name these many years." He sighed a little, then went on remorselessly, "And Grand Duchesses, madame, must not be in love with aught save duty."

"It sounds a little chilly," suggested," the Baroness plaintively.

"Ah, madame," the Count responded earnestly. "Believe me, I am not speaking idly. Ever and always a dark cloud hangs over our beloved Kremburg: the menace of Austria. Or, in other words—since Austria is but a German tool—the menace, actually, of Germany. These great pillars of militarism disallow the right of independent life to the little states. One by one they are gripped and held by the greedy tentacles of the octopus—a royal marriage here,  a binding treaty there, and, hey presto! the little state  exists more as an independent country." He paused. "And we have been approached! The German princelings seeking wives—and each bride must bring a little increase of extended power to Germany. Would you sacrifice Her Highness upon a German altar—yield up the liberty of Kremburg?"

"Never!" exclaimed the Baroness with fervour.

"Then, madame, you must prevail upon Her Highness in this matter of Rubania. I tell you, Kremburg cannot stand alone; for only a very little while can she resist the pressure now being brought to bear upon her. A royal suitor hovers in the background: Leopold, Prince of Hohenberg. That would suit the octopus of Europe very well. But if Her Highness refuses, what results? You will see. Kremburg will be found to have interfered with Austrian interests; she will be offered terms to come in as a vassal state. And the alternative will be—war."

Alas! the red fires of battle, kindled later from another Eastern torch, have proved how lamentably well the wise old statesman gauged that deadly octopus of Europe.

"The alternative will be war." "We can fight!" declared the Baroness.

"Against such enemies it would be mere wanton throwing away of life."

"Russia?" whispered the Baroness.

"Might—possibly—interfere. if she did, it would mean plunging Europe into war because, forsooth! Her Highness will not wed. But, madame," Schyrolski spoke impressively, "this other alliance with Prince Michael  of Rubania—that is a way out. Here we find  Kremburg retaining her independence, and united by the strongest possible bonds to a neighbouring and increasingly powerful state, whose people are our very race and blood. Here you would have the Austro-German intentions nipped in the bud, and the approval and support of Russia would be ours. Madame, there lies before us only the choice of this alliance, the marriage with a Hohenberg, or—illimitable bloodshed. Her Highness cannot hesitate. She must not! Go to her, madame; go to her."

The old man gestured violently, almost pushing her from the room in his impetuosity, and the Baroness, something of his passionate ardour having communicated itself to her, sped on swift, urgent feet to do his bidding.

The Grand Duchess Sonia was seated in her private sitting-room when Baroness de Bréville, intimate friend as well as lady-in-waiting begged admittance.

"Ah, Marie—thou!" the Grand Duchess said affectionately. "Yes; come in by all means, and do cheer me up. Dear old Schyrolski has been here with his suitors and alliances, and shaking threatening treaties in my face until I feel as if my small person were the hub of the European wheel of state." "Perhaps it is. Who knows? At least there is no doubt that very much depends upon your action in this matter of Prince Michael's proposals."

"You, too?" The Grand Duchess sat up and regarded Madame de Bréville with beautiful eyes of pained amusement. "Has the Count deputed you to come and bully me into receiving the young man's ambassador?"

"And why not? That, at least, does not commit you, and you would be able to find out from him just what the Prince is like—his tastes and ambitions and so on. I hear that he is very handsome," she added negligently.

"Who? His Highness's emissary?" queried Sonia, dimpling with mirth. "The stronger reason, then, against his coming. I might lose my heart to the lesser man."

"Your Highness knows I referred to the Prince," replied the Baroness stiffly.

"And My Highness also knows that in this little room at least she is Sonia and you are Marie—even though you are brimming over with disapproval. Let me be free of that eternal etiquette a few moments in the day!"

Madame de Bréville melted instantly.

"forgive me," she said contritely. "But oh, my dear, do think of this affair a little seriously." And she forthwith proceeded to persuade and urge and plead with such a mingling of adroitness and tenderness combined that the Grand Duchess finally yielded to her wishes.

"Very well, then, Marie, tell the Count to bring this young man along, and we will listen to the panegyrics on the Prince—to say nothing of the many political advantages of the alliance! But I warn you: I may fall in love with the emissary, and then where will you and all your plotting be?"

The Baroness laughed lightly.

"I do not think the risk is great," she answered.

HE Grand Duchess Sonia was strolling unattended in the palace garden. She had dismissed the Baroness de Bréville on an errand of mercy to a lodgekeeper's wife, and now in the absence of her lady-in-waiting she found herself a prey to the desire to roam. The woods that clothed the steep slopes below the palace were pulsing with the tempting green of spring; birds sang, and pigeons cooed seductively; and at last Her Highness, casting a contemptuous eye upon the shaven lawns and winding paths of the ducal gardens, surrendered to temptation, and, picking up her skirts, she fled—fled over the short, velvet grass, and the gravelled walks, breathlessly running till she stumbled at length beneath the shelter of the palace wall where a wooden door, securely locked and bolted now, gave egress to the outer world. It could not have been the first time that the Grand Duchess had thus adventured beyond the palace precincts, for she was apparently in no wise disconcerted by the unfriendly aspect of the door. She fumbled for an instant in her pocket, and, producing thence a formidable key, she thrust it in the great iron keyhole. Then, with eager hands, she swung the bars back from the sockets, and in another moment, with a little gleeful laugh, she stepped into the woods beyond.

Oh, it was good to walk on the springy turf, with its green boughs arching overhead and the great tall tree-trunks company enough for one so hemmed about with forced attendance!

Sonia tripped merrily along, dwelling with unregenerate satisfaction on the Baroness's distress when she should find her gone.

"Poor Marie! What a life I lead her," she murmured gently. "But one must be free sometimes, and if I am to be cooped up soon as a married Royal Highness, I must make the most of present opportunities!"

She drew a deep breath of pure enjoyment and, stretching her arms luxuriously above her head, gazed upward at the closely interlacing branches that shut out the fierceness of the sun from the green coolness of the mossy path below. And then her foot coming in contact with a little, unseen boulder, singled out by forest to rest just where it did, she tripped, tried vainly for an instant to regain her balance, and  finally pitched forward with one leg bent under her. For a moment, almost stunned by the sudden fall, she lay motionless. Then, as she realised what had happened, she made an instinctive effort to rise, only to fall back again with a cry of pain. Her ankle hurt her unbearably—she must have twisted it, or broken it, perhaps! What a position to be in! No one knew whither she had gone, and how was she to return to the palace if she could not put her foot to the ground? She must make another effort. She struggled to her knees, and then, by clinging to a tree-trunk, she contrived to stand, on foot only. But the moment she attempted to rest her weight upon the other foot she sank back against the tree-trunk with a moan. No; it was utterly impossible: she could not walk. She must perforce remain where she was until a search-party from the palace found her, and it might well be several hours before it would occur to any of  the suite to look for her in these particular woods. And when they did find her, Marie would blame her for her escapade, and Schyrolski, too, would add his quota of reproof. A few tears of self-pity slowly coursed down her de cheeks.

Have you hurt yourself? Can I help you?"

The voice—a very pleasant—one broke in upon her doleful meditation. Hastily she brushed her hand across her eyes, and, looking up, beheld a very personable young man approaching her. He lifted his cap as he reached her side, and repeated, solicitously:

"Have you hurt yourself?"

Sonia was a little taken back at the easy mode of address, and then she realised that that this must be some stranger, since he failed to recognise her as the Grand Duchess.

"I—I think I have sprained my ankle," she stammered. "I fell over a boulder."

"Is this the foot?" The young man was on his knees beside her. "Permit me," and with gentle, sensitive fingers he gently removed the little shoe, and touched the the injured ankle, which was already feeling hot and swollen with pain. "Mon Dieu, yes. You have sprained the ankle, without a doubt. Are you far from home?"

The Grand Duchess laughed a little.

"Not very," she said. "I live over there and she pointed to where the grey pile of the palace was just visible through an opening in the woods.

"Isn't that the palace?" queried the young man.

"Yes." And then an altogether delightful idea invading her mind, she added indifferently:

"I am one of the ladies there."

The young man nodded.

"In attendance on the Grand Duchess," supplemented Sonia for his further enlightenment. "Well, if you are to return to your duties this afternoon," he said, "we must attend this ankle. It must be bathed."

"But—but how?" queried Sonia.

"There's a little stream just a few paces from here. Let me help you up, so!" And he suited the action to the word. "Now, if you have my stick in one hand and take my arm with the other, do you think you could hop to the stream?"

Sonia drew herself up indignantly.

"Do I think I could—hop?" she ejaculated.

The young man smiled quite pleasantly.

"Yes, do you?"

And then Sonia recollected that, of course, he did not know she was the Grand Duchess so that there was no reason in the world why he should not have inquired if he could hop. A fleeting vision flashed across her mind of Schyrolski's wrath if he could but see her at this moment—with on bare foot and engaged in amicable conversation with a total stranger (quite possibly of the bourgeoisie), who was seriously expecting her to hop!

"Y-yes," she answered, rather hastily. "I think I could hop to the stream."

And then she began to laugh helplessly for a minute.

The young man regarded her with serious brown eyes.

"Well, come, then," he said, a trifle impatiently, "take my arm and try."

The short journey successfully accomplished, he settled her comfortably on a fallen log beside the stream; and then, with the tenderness of sympathetic hands, he bathed the injured ankle until at last, under the stimulant of the ice-cold water, the pain began to leave her.

"Oh, thank t so much," she said gratefully. "I believe I shall be able to walk back, after all."

"Better not try," answered the young man practically. "My car is close by, just outside the wood, and if you will allow me I will drive you back to the palace."

"I am very much in your debt, monsieur"

She hesitated.

"De Lavite it your service, mademoiselle."

The Grand Duchess stared at him round-eyed.

"Not—not"

It was on the tip of her tongue to exclaim: "Not the emissary of Prince Michael?" he compromised by saying politely:

"Not Count Paul de Lavite, whom we are expecting at the palace?"

"The same."

He was re-tying the lace of her shoe while he spoke, and did not raise his head to answer her.

"Why, then, we shall meet again," she said.

He lifted his head at that and looked her straight in the eyes.

"That is my wish, mademoiselle."

The Grand Duchess experienced a most curious sensation. She was totally unused to personable young men who looked her squarely in the face and informed her in tones of perfect equality, and with an admirable sang-froid, that it was the wish to meet her again. The sensation was curious but decidedly exhilarating.

"You have come with letters to Her Highness from Prince Michael, haven't you?" she resumed. "Tell me, is he—is he—what is he like?"

The Count de Lavite laughed.

"Why, in truth, mademoiselle, he is like any other man would be who wished to marry a Grand Duchess—very much in earnest."

"But he I ever seen her!"

"No?" indifferently. "You think that constitutes a stumbling-block?"

"Why, of course," eagerly. "No one can really be very much in earnest about a woman he'd never met; he might be very disappointed when he saw her."

"Is she so plain then?"

The Grand Duchess gasped. She knew her reputation as one the most beautiful of the marriageable princesses in Europe.

The Grand Duchess affected to consider.

"No," she said at last, in her kindest tones. "I should not call her really plain."

"It is a pity she is not beautiful, like you," he commented.

He had not spoken as though paying a compliment, but merely as one making a statement of fact. The Grand Duchess advanced a feeler cautiously.

"Like me?" she murmured.

"Yes," he answered quietly, but with conviction. "You are very beautiful, mademoiselle."

Grand Duchess was enjoying herself profoundly. There were obviously, she decided, many pleasurable paths of dalliance open to a simple lady-in-waiting which were austerely closed against her royal mistress.

"I suppose you are constantly with Her Highness?" presently inquired the Count.

"Oh, constantly," she assured him warmly.

"Then you know her well, probably. Is she averse to the proposed alliance? At the Rubanian Court there runs a little rumour that she is not very favourably disposed towards it?"

"Oh, she is not opposed to this particular alliance in any special way. But why should I—I mean, why should anyone"—she corrected herself in haste, bestowing a swift side glance upon the young man to see if he observed the slip; but perceiving that his face expressed nothing beyond a polite, impersonal interest in her remarks, she continued fervently:

"Why should she be compelled to marry—and to marry a perfect stranger, too?"

The Count hesitated a moment.

"I suppose," he said slowly, "it is the lot of royalty."

"A most unhappy lot," she answered, a tinge of deeper feeling in her voice. Then rising, with his assistance, to her feet, she said:

"I must go back now. Her highness,"—an irrepressible dimple lurked at the corner of her charming mouth—"Her Highness might require my services."

"She might," assented the young man, eyeing her judicially. "If you will allow me to help you, I think you might manage to get to my car now. You will have to hop again," and he hastily concealed a fleeting smile.

The Grand Duchess hopped obediently, and in due time was comfortably established in the car.

"You can put me down here," she said presently. "There is a side door, and I can slip in quietly. I—I am rather late, you see," she added by way of explanation.

"I understand," he answered. "But I will just walk up the path with you—you cannot go without assistance yet."

When they had reached the small private entrance to the palace the Grand Duchess paused and held out her hand.

"Good-bye," she said. "Thank you again for helping me."

"The thanks are entirely mine, mademoiselle, that I was privileged."

He bent and kissed the hand she had extended to him; then, still holding her hand in his and standing very straight and tall beside her, he said, with something of a ring of triumph in his voice:

"Are you not glad that we are spared the unhappy lot of royalty? I thank God, mademoiselle," he went on quietly, "that we two are just simple man and woman."

T was a week later that Count Paul de Lavite, special envoy of Prince Micheal of Rubania, arrived with all due ceremony at the palace of the capital of Kremburg, and he was even now awaiting audience of the Grand Duchess. Her Highness had been in an unwontedly difficult mood this morning, and her maids had had their work cut out to please her in the dressing of her beautiful hair and the arranging of her slim young person. But at last she condescended to express herself as satisfied, and the much-harried maids and women of the bedchamber breathed heart-felt prayers of thankfulness as their royal mistress (usually so ready to be pleased with all their efforts) descended to the audience chamber.

In a few minutes the Rubanian emissary was admitted to her presence. He entered, bowing very low, and when the Grand Duchess graciously extended her hand he placed his own beneath it, and carried it respectfully to his lips, whereupon there followed the customary interchange of royal compliments and courtly inquiries as to the health of "my cousin of Rubania." If the young man was amazed—as well he might be to to find his companion of the woods transformed into a very great lady, he concealed his feelings admirably. He was exceedingly composed in manner, and, as far as Her Highness could gather from his bearing, he had apparently no recollection of ever having set eyes on her before. Could she have looked so very different, she wondered, with her hair and dress dishevelled from her fall, and one bare foot—she blushed at the remembrance.

The Count de Lavite formally presented the letters which his royal master had entrusted him, and ceremoniously informed her that he was charged by the Prince to assure her that the proposals which he had the honour to submit for her consideration embodied not only the earnest aspirations of the Prince himself, but the most humble and devoted hopes of the entire Rubanian nation. The Grand Duchess graciously responded in a few conventional phrases; but all the time her nerves were on edge to discover  whether or no he he recognised her; moreover she felt an unwonted  and incomprehensible interest in her knight-errant of the woods. She could not let the opportunity go by. The Count de Lavite was already taking formal leave of her, and was about to withdraw from the audience chamber when, taking a swift decision, she  stayed him by by a gesture.

"I would speak with Monsieur le Comte alone," she said.

Immediately the members of the suite withdrew into the ante-room, and she found herself alone with the stranger of the woods. There was a lengthy pause. He stood before her silently, regarding her with grave, brown eyes that still bore no hint of recognition, and her Highness's small foot tapped nervously upon the ground. The silence became unbearable.

"We have met before, I think," she hazarded at last, a little breathlessly.

"That is as Your Highness shall decide," he answered gently.

"You mean?"

"I mean that if it should please Your Highness better that we had not met before—why, we have not done so. That is all."

the Grand Duchess laughed a little mischievously.

"You are very accommodating, monsieur."

He was silent.

"Perhaps," she continued, "perhaps the suggestion is dictated by the wishes of monsieur himself?"

At that there came a light into his eyes, and he made an impulsive step towards her. Then, controlling himself with obviously some slight effort, he answered quietly:

"It is true I treated Your Highness with scant ceremony, but"

But the fault was mine," she interpolated generously. "I think I owe you a little explanation, monsieur."

She her head on her hand and mused a moment. Then she spoke, half pleadingly:

"Monsieur, you have lived all your life at courts, and you have seen the hard and fast restrictions that cling about a throne. Cannot you imagine that to enjoy a simulated freedom for just one little hour, and to be merely an ordinary woman, and to be treated like one, was a temptation not to be resisted? And you yourself, monsieur, by not recognising me, you offered me this golden chance. You opened the door, and I—I stepped across the threshold."

She paused, deliciously embarrassed, blushing, half ashamed of her transgression.

"If that is so, Your Highness, then I shall always bless the opening of that door. If only"—he advanced a step towards her—"if only it need never close again!"

There was no mistaking the intensity of meaning in his tones. The Grand Duchess looked up and read their confirmation in the deep seriousness of the eyes above her, in the firm line of the stern mouth. Her head drooped and she caught her breath, stretching out one hand a little pleadingly.

"Ah, monsieur," she murmured, very low. "Ah, monsieur."

He took the outstretched hand and held it close in both of his.

"If only it need never close again, Your Highness; so that you might once more come through from the rose and crystal and gold of your palace, out into the cool green woods where I'd be waiting!"

"Would you wait long?" she asked him.

"I would wait as long as life," he answered. "Ah, madame, do you think that ever again your feet will cross that threshold?"

She shook her head distressfully.

"Alas! monsieur" She broke off, then resumed: "We have forgotten monsieur, your errand here to-day. The Prince"

The Count released her hand, and, turning, paced the room's length twice. When he spoke again his voice was very low and sad.

"I crave forgiveness. Your Highness has recalled me to my duty. But there is so much that may be his—so little, mine. I only begged that little, madame."

She laid her hand upon his arm.

"Mon ami, royal feet are bound; they must not stray across strange thresholds. Let us speak of it no more."

The Court of Kremburg had been very gay during the brief visit of the envoy from Rubania. A state ball and concert and a huge dinner party had been among the compliments bestowed upon Prince Michael's  representative, and from the extreme graciousness of Her Highness's manner to  Count Paul, old Schyrolski argued good results were pending  He attacked the Baroness de Bréville on the subject just a day before that fixed the envoy's departure.

"Well, madame, how got it? Is Her Highness going to permit Prince Michael to pay a visit to our Court?"

"If she does, Count, of course you know that means that you have won."

"And Kremburg will be saved!?" replied Schyrolski, a depth of feeling in his harsh old voice. "But will she, madam?" he continued irritably. "Will she? That's what I want to know."

"Have patience, dear Schyrolski. Her Highness has given me no hint at all. But without doubt she will acquaint you formally of her intentions. Count Paul departs to-morrow so that a few hours now will put you out of your misery."

"Or put me into it eternally," replied the old man grimly. "Oh, if that bit of pretty femininity could only realise all that hangs upon her word! But tell me—I take it as a good augury—have you not observed, have you not noted that she is most gracious to Count Paul?"

"Yes I have," Madam« de Bréville answered dryly.

Something in the sharp curtness of her speech arrested the old Counts attention forcibly.

"What do you mean? You can't mean that!" he spluttered furiously, "What do you dare to mean, madame?"

"Just what you are thinking, Count," she answered quietly.

"Mon Dieu, impossible!" Schyrolski passed his handkerchief across his brow; then, after a pause, he spoke again. "What you are thinking, madame, is inconceivable," he said sharply. "It must be inconceivable!"

But even Prime Ministers—and despotic ones at that—may not lay down the law to men's and women's hearts, though they may break them. And could Schyrolski have been present in the audience chamber a little later when the Rubanian envoy was received in private audience by the Grand Duchess he would have realised that the inconceivable was not only possible, but actual.

Count Paul was speaking, and his words fell curt and chill upon the silence of the room.

"With Your Highness's permission, I have come to take my leave."

The Grand Duchess started from her seat with a little cry.

"No—oh, no," she said, brokenly.

"And to carry back your answer to Prince Michael, if Your Highness honours me with your command," continued the Count in the flat level tone of a child repeating the lesson learnt by rote.

"No," she said again. Then, coming near to him, she laid her hand upon his arm, and he felt her fragrance all about him. "Paul," she said, "help me! What—what message must I send?"

At that he turned and caught her swiftly in his arms.

"You ask me? You ask me what message? Tell him, beloved, tell him that you cannot marry him, that love has found you, and that you are going to give up  all your regal state and be the wife of just a simple gentleman. Tell him that!"

"Ah, Paul, if it were only true!"

"And is it not, sweetheart? Oh, my dear, my dear, you know we love each other."

"Yes, we love each other. But, Paul, Paul," and her voice fell to a frightened whisper, "there is Kremburg!"

"Kremburg?"

"Yes." She freed herself from his arms and stood apart. "There is Kremburg. Can I buy happiness and let the liberty of Kremburg be the cost? For that is how it stands. If I go with you—and, my dear one, I would come so gladly, oh, so gladly! But if I do, then Kremburg falls to Austria and her independence ends."

There was a heavy silence, for each one knew there was no other way. Paul's arms had dropped to his sides; he made no answer to her words, only his eyes entreated her.

"I have lain awake all night," she went on, "thinking, thinking. And this must be good-bye. The nation's honour is in my hands. I must not fail. You would not have me fail?" There was a supplication in her voice, and he replied to it.

"No I would not have you fail, sweetheart. Never was nation's honour more safely bestowed than in these hands of yours. And so, this is farewell. I will go back and tell the Prince to come and claim the bravest woman I have ever known."

MESSAGE had just been brought to Madame de Bréville, asking her to acquaint Her Highness that Prince Michael had arrived and was awaiting audience. Never had the Baroness faced a more unpleasant duty, for well she knew that no less welcome visitor had ever been announced. The sharp eyes of a friend may rarely be deceived, and it was no secret from Madame de Bréville that the royal fiancailles foreshadowed by this visit would be entirely an affair of state and that love had flown elsewhere.

"Dear Sonia," she began, trembling inwardly. "The Prince has come—he waits to see you."

How the hours had sped! Was it really close upon a week since the Prince's envoy had departed? And now the Prince himself was here to claim her promise.

The Grand Duchess, robed in white and with the famous pearls of the Kremburg ducal house around her throat, rose to her feet. She looked pale, but quite composed and though there were dark shadows underneath her eyes there was about her a surpassing dignity. The Baroness de Bréville marvelled as she followed in the wake of the slight, regal figure to the audience chamber.

Ushers flung wide the doors at the farther end of the apartment, and then a voice announced:

"His Royal Highness, Prince Michael of Rubania."

The Grand Duchess did not raise her eyes as the Prince passed up the room amid the bows and curtsies of the suite; only the slender hand that rested on the arm of the great carved chair trembled little. Then as the Prince approached she rose, and, still with downcast eyes, she made her stately curtsy.

"Welcome, my cousin."

Her voice rang clear, and the hand she extended for his kiss was steady enough now.

The Prince bent to salute the outstretched hand, and as he bowed before her she looked and met the kind and steady glance of eyes that sent the blood racing wildly through her veins—grave brown eyes that she had last seen through the mist of her own tears. She caught her hand away and swayed a little. What was happening? This was not the Prince! This was Count Paul, the Prince' emissary. The Prince spoke low—too low for any of the surrounding members of the suite to hear his words.

"Yes, sweetheart, it is I. Play the game—still a moment longer. When we are alone I'll make all clear."

As in a dream, the Grand Duchess went through her part in the ceremonious reception of the Prince, while the Court ladies whispered behind their fans and the Court gentlemen looked politely puzzled, for it was as clear as noonday that the Rubanian envoy had returned, and this time in the  person of the Prince himself.

It was considerably later when at last Prince Michael and the Grand Duchess found themselves alone in her private sitting-room. The Prince was holding both her hands in his.

"And now you know the whole of it," he was saying. "It hurt me sorely to leave you these few days in ignorance; but once begun, I had to play the part through to the end—or else prepare to have a hornet's nest of gossip buzzing round our ears! And you forgive me, sweetheart? It was a scurvy trick to play, I know full well. But the hand of a Grand Duchess was not enough for me—a hand bestowed through pressure of high policy. I wanted her heart as well. And so I came here as my own ambassador, that I might meet you as a simple gentleman. Then fortune favoured me—the day you ran away into the woods. And you were just like your photographs—the loveliest and the"

"My photographs! Then—you knew—all the time who I was?" she stammered.

"Yes, all the time," he answered, joyously.

The Grand Duchess began to laugh—a little gurgle of a laugh. If it had been another than a Grand Duchess you might have said she giggled.

"And you ordered me to—to hop!" she said.

"And you did." He was smiling reminiscently.

"I must have looked a sight," she whispered,

His arms closed round her.

"Sweetheart, you looked what you will always look to me—the woman I love best in all the world."