IX

There was very little light in the compartment into which Max had so

successfully dived. Some one had turned down the wicks of the oil

lamps which hung suspended between the luggage-racks above, and the

gloom was notable rather than subdued. So far as he was concerned he

was perfectly contented; his security was all the greater. He pressed

his face against the window and peered out. The lights of the city

flashed by, and finally grew few and far between, and then came the

blackness of the country. It would take an hour and a half to cross

the frontier, and there would be no stop this side, for which he was

grateful. He swore, mumbling. To have come all this way to study, and

then to leg it in this ignominious fashion! It was downright

scandalous! Whoever heard of such laws? Of course he had been rather

silly in pulling his gun, for even in the United States--where he

devoutly wished himself at that moment--it was a misdemeanor to carry

concealed weapons. He felt of his cheek. He would return some day,

and if it was the last thing he ever did, he would slash that

lieutenant's cheeks. The insolent beggar! To be struck and not to

strike back! He choked.

Gradually his eyes became accustomed to the dim light, and he cast

about.

"The deuce!" he muttered.

He was not alone. Huddled in the far corner was a woman heavily

veiled. Young or old, he could not tell. She sat motionless, and

appeared to be looking out of the opposite window. Well, so long as

she did not bother him he would not bother her. But he would much

rather have been alone.

He took out his passport and tried to read it. It was impossible. So

he rose, steadied himself, and turned up the wick of one of the lamps.

He did not hear the muffled exclamation which came from the other end.

He dropped back upon the cushion and began to read. So he was George

Ellis, an American student in good standing; he was aged twenty-nine,

had blue eyes, light hair, was six feet tall, and weighed one hundred

and fifty-four pounds. Ha! he had, then, lost thirty pounds in as many

minutes? At this rate he wouldn't cast a shadow when he struck

Dresden. He had studied three years at the college; but what the deuce

had he studied? If they were only asleep at the frontier! He returned

the document to his pocket, and as he did so his fingers came into

contact with the purse he had picked up in the road that

morning--Hildegarde von Heideloff. What meant Fate in crossing _her_

path with his? He had been perfectly contented in mind and heart

before that first morning ride; and here he was, sighing like a

furnace. She had been merely pretty on Monday, on Tuesday she had been

handsome, on Wednesday she had been adorable; now she was the most

beautiful woman that ever lived. (Ah, the progressive adjective, that

litany of love!) Alas! it was quite evident that she had passed out of

his life as suddenly and mysteriously as she had entered it. He would

keep the purse as a souvenir, and some day, when he was an old man, he

would open it.

There is something compelling in the human eye, a magnetism upon which

Science has yet to put her cold and unromantic finger. Have you never

experienced the sensation that some [Transcriber's note: someone?] was

looking at you? Doubtless you have. Well, Max presently turned his

glance toward his silent fellow traveler. She had lifted her veil and

was staring at him with wondering, fearing eyes. These eyes were

somewhat red, as if the little bees of grief had stung them.

"You!" he cried, the blood thumping into his throat. He tossed his hat

to the floor and started for her end of the compartment.

She held up a hand as if to ward off his approach. "I can hear

perfectly," she said; "it is not needful that you should come any

nearer."

He sat down confused. He could not remember when his heart had beaten

so irregularly.

"May I ask how you came to enter this compartment?" she asked coldly.

"I jumped in,"--simply. What was to account for this strange attitude?

"So I observe. What I meant was, by what right?"

"It happened to be the only door at hand, and I was in a great hurry."

Where was his usual collectedness of thought? He was embarrassed and

angry at the knowledge.

"Did you follow me?" Her nostrils were palpitating and the corners of

her mouth were drawn aggressively.

"Follow you?" amazed that such an idea should enter into her head.

"Why, you are the last person I ever expected to see again. Indeed,

you are only a fairy-story; there is, I find, no such person as

Hildegarde von Heideloff." Clearly he was recovering.

"I know it,"--candidly. "It was my mother's name, and I saw fit to use

it." She really hoped he _hadn't_ followed her.

"You had no need to use it, or any name, for that matter. When I gave

you my name it was given in good faith. The act did not imply that I

desired to know yours."

"But you did!"--imperiously.

"Yes. Curiosity is the brain of our mental anatomy." When Max began

to utter tall phrases it was a sign of even-balanced mentality.

"And if I hadn't told you my name, you would have asked for it."

"Not the first day."

"Well, you would have on Tuesday."

"Not a bit of a doubt." He certainly wouldn't show her how much he

cared. (What was she doing in this carriage? She had said nothing

that morning about traveling.)

"Well, you will admit that under the circumstances I had the right to

give any name it pleased me to give."

He came over to her end and sat down. Her protests (half-hearted) he

ignored.

"I can not see very well from over there," he explained.

"It is not necessary that you should see; you can hear what I have to

say."

"Very well; I'll go back." And he did. He made a fine pretense of

looking out of the window. Why should this girl cross his path at this

unhappy moment?

There was a pause.

"You are not near so nice as you were this morning," she said presently.

"I can't be nice and sit away over here."

"What made you jump into this compartment, of all others?"

"I wasn't particular what compartment I got into so long as I got into

one. As I said, I was in a hurry."

"You said nothing this morning about going away from Barscheit."

"Neither did you."

Another pause. (I take it, from the character of this dialogue, that

their morning rides must have been rather interesting.)

"You told me that you were in Barscheit to study nerves,"--wickedly.

"So thought I, up to half-past nine to-night; but it appears that I am

not,"--gloomily.

"You are running away, too?"--with suppressed eagerness.

"Running away, too!" he repeated. "Are _you_ running away?"

"As fast as ever the train can carry me. I am on the way to Dresden."

"Dresden? It seems that Fate is determined that we shall travel

together this day. Dresden is my destination also."

"Let me see your passports,"--extending a firm white hand.

He obeyed docilely, as docilely as though he were married. She gave

the paper one angry glance and tossed it back.

"George Ellis; so that is your name?"--scornfully. "You told me that

it was Scharfenstein. I did not ask you to tell me your name; you took

that service upon yourself." She recalled the duke's declaration that

he should have her every movement watched. If this American was

watching her, the duke was vastly more astute than she had given him

the credit for being. "Are you in the pay of the duke? Come, confess

that you have followed me, that you have been watching me for these

four days." How bitter the cup of romance tasted to her now! She had

been deceived. "Well, you shall never take me from this train save by

force. I _will_ not go back!"

"I haven't the slightest idea of what you are talking about," he said,

mightily discouraged. "I never saw this country till Monday, and never

want to see it again."

"From what are you running away then?"--skeptically.

"I am running away from a man who slapped me in the face,"--bitterly;

and all his wrongs returned to him.

"Indeed!"--derisively.

"Yes, I!" He thrust out both his great arms miserably. "I'm a

healthy-looking individual, am I not, to be running away from anything?"

"Especially after having been a soldier in the Spanish War. Why did

you tell me that your name was Scharfenstein?"

"Heaven on earth, it _is_ Scharfenstein! I'm simply taking my chance

on another man's passports."

"I am unconvinced,"--ungraciously. She was, however, inordinately

happy; at the sight of the picture of woe on his face all her trust in

him returned. She believed every word he said, but she wanted to know

everything.

"Very well; I see that I must tell you everything to get back into your

good graces--Fräulein von Heideloff."

"If you _ever_ were in my good graces!"

Graphically he recounted the adventure at Müller's. He was a capital

story-teller, and he made a very good impression.

"If it hadn't been for the princess' eloping I should not have been

here," he concluded, "for my friend would have had a waiter bring me

that chair."

"The princess' eloping!"--aghast.

"Why, yes. It seems that she eloped to-night; so the report came from

the palace."

The girl sat tight, as they say; then suddenly she burst into

uncontrollable laughter. It was the drollest thing she had ever heard.

She saw the duke tearing around the palace, ordering the police hither

and thither, sending telegrams, waking his advisers and dragging them

from their beds. My! what a hubbub! Suddenly she grew serious.

"Have you the revolver still?"

"Yes."

"Toss it out of the window; quick!"

"But--"

"Do as I say. They will naturally search you at the frontier."

He took out the revolver and gazed regretfully at it, while the girl

could not repress a shudder.

"What a horrible-looking thing!"

"I carried it all through the war."

"Throw it away and buy a new one."

"But the associations!"

"They will lock you up as a dangerous person." She let down the window

and the cold night air rushed in. "Give it to me." He did so. She

flung it far into the night. "There, that is better. Some day you

will understand."

"I shall never understand anything in this country--What are _you_

running away from?"

"A man with a red nose."

"A red nose? Are they so frightful here as all that?"

"This one is. He wants--to marry me."

"Marry you!"

"Yes; rather remarkable that any man should desire me as a wife, isn't

it?"

He saw that she was ironical. Having nothing to say, he said nothing,

but looked longingly at the vacant space beside her.

She rested her chin upon the sill of the window and gazed at the stars.

A wild rush of the wind beat upon her face, bringing a thousand vague

heavy perfumes and a pleasant numbing. How cleverly she had eluded the

duke's police! What a brilliant idea it had been to use her private

carriage key to steal into the carriage compartment long before the

train was made up! It had been some trouble to light the lamps, but in

doing so she had avoided the possible dutiful guard. He _had_ peered

in, but, seeing that the lamps were lighted, concluded that one of his

fellows had been the rounds.

The police would watch all those who entered or left the station, but

never would they think to search a carriage into which no one had been

seen to enter. But oh, what a frightful predicament she was in! All

she possessed in the world was a half-crown, scarce enough for her

breakfast. And if she did not find her governess at once she would be

lost utterly, and in Dresden! She choked back the sob. Why couldn't

they let her be? She didn't want to marry any one--that is, just yet.

She didn't want her wings clipped, before she had learned what a fine

thing it was to fly. She was young.

"Oh!"

"What is it?" she said, turning.

"I have something of yours," answered Max, fumbling in his pocket,

grateful for some excuse to break the silence. "You dropped your purse

this morning. Permit me to return it to you. I hadn't the remotest

idea how I was going to return it. In truth, I had just made up my

mind to keep it as a souvenir."

She literally snatched it from his extended hand.

"My purse! My purse! And I thought it was gone for ever!" hugging it

hysterically to her heart. She feverishly tried to unlatch the clasps.

"You need not open it," he said quietly, even proudly, "I had not

thought of looking into it, even to prove your identity."

"Pardon! I did not think. I was so crazy to see it again." She laid

the purse beside her. "You see," with an hysterical catch in her

voice, "all the money I had in the world was in that purse, and I was

running away without any money, and only Heaven knows what misfortunes

were about to befall me. There were, and are, a thousand crowns in the

purse."

"A thousand crowns?"

"In bank-notes. Thank you, thank you! I am so happy!"--clasping her

hands. Then, with a smile as warm as the summer's sun, she added: "You

may--come and sit close beside me. You may even smoke."

Max grew light-headed. This was as near Heaven as he ever expected to

get.

"Open your purse and look into it," he said. "I'm a brute; you are

dying to do so."

"May I?"--shyly.

Then it came into Max's mind, with all the brilliancy of a dynamo

spark, that this was the one girl in all the world, the ideal he had

been searching for; and he wanted to fall at her feet and tell her so.

"Look!" she cried gleefully, holding up the packet of bank-notes.

"I wish," he said boyishly, "that you didn't have any money at all, so

I could help you and feel that you depended upon me."

She smiled. How a woman loves this simple kind of flattery! It tells

her better what she may wish to know than a thousand hymns sung in

praise of her beauty.

But even as he spoke a chill of horror went over Max. He put his hand

hurriedly into his vest-pocket. Fool! Ass! How like a man! In

changing his clothes at the consulate he had left his money, and all he

had with him was some pocket change.

The girl saw his action and read the sequence in the look of dismay

which spread over his face.

"You have no money either?" she cried. She separated the packet of

notes into two equal parts. "Here!"

He smiled weakly.

"Take them!"

"No, a thousand times, no! I have a watch, and there's always a

pawnbroker handy, even in Europe."

"You offered to help me," she insisted.

"It is not quite the same."

"Take quarter of it."

"No. Don't you understand? I really couldn't."

"One, just one, then!" she pleaded.

An idea came to him. "Very well; I will take one." And when she gave

it to him he folded it reverently and put it away.

"I understand!" she cried. "You are just going to keep it; you don't

intend to spend it at all. Don't be foolish!"

"I shall notify my friend, when we reach Doppelkinn, that I am without

funds, and he will telegraph to Dresden."

"Your friends were very wise in sending you away as they did. Aren't

you always getting into trouble?"

"Yes. But I doubt the wisdom of my friends in sending me away as they

did,"--with a frank glance into her eyes. How beautiful they were, now

that the sparkle of mischief had left them!

She looked away. If only Doppelkinn were young like this! She sighed.

"Can they force one to marry in this country?" he asked abruptly.

"When one is in my circumstances."

He wanted to ask what those circumstances were, but what he said was:

"Is there anything I can do to help you?"

"You are even more helpless than I am,"--softly. "If you are caught

you will be imprisoned. I shall only suffer a temporary loss of

liberty; my room will be my dungeon-keep." How big and handsome and

strong he looked! What a terrible thing it was to be born in purple!

"Tell me about yourself."

His hand strayed absently toward his upper vest-pocket, and then fell

to his side. He licked his lips.

"Smoke!" she commanded intuitively. "I said that you might."

"I can talk better when I smoke," he advanced rather lamely. "May I,

then?"--gratefully.

"I command it!"

Wasn't it fine to be ordered about in this fashion? If only the train

might go on and on and on, thousands of miles! He applied a match to

the end of his cigar and leaned back against the cushion.

"Where shall I begin?"

"At the beginning. I'm not one of those novel readers who open a book

at random. I do not appreciate effects till I have found out the

causes. I want to know everything about you, for you interest me."

He began. He told her that he was a German by birth and blood. He had

been born either in Germany or in Austria, he did not know which. He

had been found in Tyrol, in a railway station. A guard had first

picked him up, then a kind-hearted man named Scharfenstein had taken

him in charge, advertised for his parents and, hearing nothing, had

taken him to America with him.

"If they catch you," she interrupted, "do not under any consideration

let them know that you were not born in the United States. Your friend

the American consul could do nothing for you then."

"Trust me to keep silent, then." He continued: "I have lived a part of

my life on the great plains; have ridden horses for days and days at a

time. As a deputy sheriff I have arrested desperadoes, have shot and

been shot at. Then I went East and entered a great college; went in

for athletics, and wore my first dress-suit. Then my foster-parent

died, leaving me his fortune. And as I am frugal, possibly because of

my German origin, I have more money than I know what to do with." He

ceased.

"Go on," she urged.

"When the Spanish War broke out I entered a cavalry regiment as a

trooper. I won rank, but surrendered it after the battle of Santiago.

And now there are but two things in the world I desire to complete my

happiness. I want to know who I am."

"And the other thing?"

"The other thing? I can't tell _you_ that!"--hurriedly.

"Ah, I believe I know. You have left some sweetheart back in America."

All her interest In his narrative took a strange and unaccountable

slump.

"No; I have often admired women, but I have left no sweetheart back in

America. If I had I should now feel very uncomfortable."

Somehow she couldn't meet his eyes. She recognized, with vague anger,

that she was glad that he had no sweetheart. Ah, well, nobody could

rob her of her right to dream, and this was a very pleasant dream.

"The train is slowing down," he said suddenly.

"We are approaching the frontier." She shaded her eyes and searched

the speeding blackness outside.

"How far is it to the capital?" he asked.

"It lies two miles beyond the frontier."

Silence fell upon them, and at length the train stopped with a jerk.

In what seemed to them an incredibly short time a guard unlocked the

door.

He peered in.

"Here they are, sure enough, your Excellency!" addressing some one in

the dark beyond.

An officer from the military household of the Prince of Doppelkinn was

instantly framed in the doorway. The girl tried to lower her veil; too

late.

"I am sorry to annoy your Highness," he began, "but the grand duke's

orders are that you shall follow me to the castle. Lieutenant, bring

two men to tie this fellow's hands,"--nodding toward Scharfenstein.

Max stared dumbly at the girl. All the world seemed to have slipped

from under his feet.

"Forgive me!" she said, low but impulsively.

"What does it mean?" His heart was very heavy.

"I am the Princess Hildegarde of Barscheit, and your entering this

carriage has proved the greatest possible misfortune to you."

He stared helplessly--And everything had been going along so

nicely--the dinner he had planned in Dresden, and all that!

"And they believe," the girl went on, "that I have eloped with you to

avoid marrying the prince." She turned to the officer in the doorway.

"Colonel, on the word of a princess, this gentleman is in no wise

concerned. I ran away alone."

Max breathed easier.

"I should be most happy to believe your Highness, but you will honor my

strict observance of orders." He passed a telegram to her.

_Search train for Doppelkinn. Princess has eloped. Arrest and hold

pair till I arrive on special engine._

_Barscheit._

The telegraph is the true arm of the police. The princess sighed

pathetically. It was all over.

"Your passports," said the colonel to Max.

Max surrendered his papers. "You need not tie my hands," he said

calmly. "I will come peaceably."

The colonel looked inquiringly at the princess.

"He will do as he says."

"Very good. I should regret to shoot him upon so short an

acquaintance." The colonel beckoned for them to step forth.

"Everything is prepared. There is a carriage for the convenience of

your Highness; Herr Ellis shall ride horseback with the troop."

Max often wondered why he did not make a dash for it, or a running

fight. What he had gone through that night was worth a good fight.

"Good-by," said the princess, holding out her hand.

Scharfenstein gravely bent his head and kissed it.

"Good-by, Prince Charming!" she whispered, so softly that Max scarcely

heard her.

Then she entered the closed carriage and was driven up the dark,

tree-enshrouded road that led to the Castle of Doppelkinn.

"What are you going to do with me?" Max asked, as he gathered up the

reins of his mount.

"That we shall discuss later. Like as not something very unpleasant.

For one thing you are passing under a forged passport. You are _not_

an American, no matter how well you may speak that language. You are a

German."

"There are Germans in the United States, born and bred there, who speak

German tolerably well," replied Max easily. He was wondering if it

would not be a good scheme to tell a straightforward story and ask to

be returned to Barscheit. But that would probably appeal to the

officer that he was a coward and was trying to lay the blame on the

princess.

"I do not say that I can prove it," went on the colonel; "I simply

affirm that you are a German, even to the marrow."

"You have the advantage of the discussion." No; he would confess

nothing. If he did he might never see the princess again. . . . The

princess! As far away as yonder stars! It was truly a very

disappointing world to live in.

"Now, then, forward!" cried the colonel to his men, and they set off at

a sharp trot.

From time to time, as a sudden twist in the road broke the straight

line, Max could see the careening lights of the princess' carriage. A

princess! And he was a man without a country or a name!

X

The castle of the prince of Doppelkinn rested in the very heart of the

celebrated vineyards. Like all German castles I ever saw or heard of,

it was a relic of the Middle Ages, with many a crumbling, useless tower

and battlement. It stood on the south side of a rugged hill which was

gashed by a narrow but turbulent stream, in which lurked the rainbow

trout that lured the lazy man from his labors afield. (And who among

us shall cast a stone at the lazy man? Not I!) If you are fortunate

enough to run about Europe next year, as like as not you will be

mailing home the "Doppelkinn" post-card.

More than once I have wandered about the castle's interior, cavernous

and musty, strolled through its galleries of ancient armor, searched

its dungeon-keeps, or loitered to soliloquize in the gloomy judgment

chamber. How time wars upon custom! In olden times they created pain;

now they strive to subdue it.

I might go into a detailed history of the Doppelkinns, only it would be

absurd and unnecessary, since it would be inappreciable under the name

of Doppelkinn, which happens to be, as doubtless you have already

surmised, a name of mine own invention. I could likewise tell you how

the ancient dukes of Barscheit fought off the insidious flattery of

Napoleon, only it is a far interest, and Barscheit is simply a

characteristic, not a name. Some day I may again seek a diplomatic

mission, and what government would have for its representative a teller

of tales out of school?

It was, then, to continue the fortunes and misfortunes of Max

Scharfenstein, close to midnight when the cavalcade crossed the old

moat-bridge, which hadn't moved on its hinges within a hundred years.

They were not entering by the formal way, which was a flower-bedded,

terraced road. It was the rear entrance. The iron doors swung outward

with a plaintive moaning, like that of a man roused out of his sleep,

and Max found himself in an ancient guard-room, now used as a kind of

secondary stable. The men dismounted.

"This way, Herr Ellis," said the colonel, with a mocking bow. He

pointed toward a broad stone staircase.

"All I ask," said Max, "is a fair chance to explain my presence here."

"All in due time. Forward! The prince is waiting, and his temper may

not be as smooth as usual."

With two troopers in front of him and two behind, Max climbed the steps

readily enough. They wouldn't dare kill him, whatever they did. He

tried to imagine himself the hero of some Scott or Dumas tale, with a

grim cardinal somewhere above, and oubliettes and torture chambers

besetting his path. But the absurdity of his imagination, so

thoroughly Americanized, evoked a ringing laughter. The troopers eyed

him curiously. He might laugh later, but it was scarcely probable. A

tramp through a dark corridor and they came to the west wing of the

castle. It was here that the old prince lived, comfortably and

luxuriously enough, you may take my word for it.

A door opened, flooding the corridor with light. Max felt himself

gently pushed over the threshold. He stood in the great living-room of

the modern Doppelkinns. The first person he saw was the princess. She

sat on an oriental divan. Her hands were folded; she sat very erect;

her chin was tilted ominously; there was so little expression on her

pale face that she might have been an incomplete statue. But Max was

almost certain that there was just the faintest flicker of a smile in

her eyes as she saw him enter. Glorious eyes! (It is a bad sign when

a man begins to use the superlative adjectives!)

The other occupant of the room was an old man, fat and bald, with a

nose like a russet pear. He was stalking--if it is possible for a

short man to stalk--up and down the length of the room, and, judging

from the sonorous, rumbling sound, was communing half-aloud.

Betweenwhiles he was rubbing his tender nose, carefully and lovingly.

When a man's nose resembles a russet pear it generally is tender.

Whoever he was, Max saw that he was vastly agitated about something.

This old gentleman was (or supposed he was) the last of his line, the

Prince of Doppelkinn, famous for his wines and his love of them. There

was, so his subjects said, but one tender spot in the heart of this old

man, and that was the memory of the wife of his youth. (How the years,

the good and bad, crowd behind us, pressing us on and on!) However,

there was always surcease in the cellars--that is, the Doppelkinn

cellars.

"Ha!" he roared as he saw the blinking Max. "So this is the fellow!"

He made an eloquent gesture. "Your Highness must be complimented upon

your good taste. The fellow isn't bad-looking."

"When you listen to reason, Prince," replied the girl calmly, "you will

apologize to the gentleman and give him his liberty."

"Oh, he is a gentleman, is he?"

"You might learn from him many of the common rules of

courtesy,"--tranquilly.

"Who the devil are you?" the prince demanded of Max.

"I should be afraid to tell you. I hold that I am Max Scharfenstein,

but the colonel here declares that my name is Ellis. Who are you?"

Max wasn't the least bit frightened. These were not feudal times.

The prince stared at him. The insolent puppy!

"I am the prince."

"Ah, your serene Highness,"--began Max, bowing.

"I am not called 'serene'"--rudely. "The grand duke is 'serene.'"

"Permit me to doubt that," interposed the girl, smiling.

Max laughed aloud, which didn't improve his difficulties any.

"I have asked you who you are!" bawled the prince, his nose turning

purple.

"My name is Max Scharfenstein. I am an American. If you will wire the

American consulate at Barscheit, you will learn that I have spoken the

truth. All this is a mistake. The princess did not elope with me."

"His papers give the name of Ellis," said the colonel, touching his cap.

"Humph! We'll soon find out who he is and what may be done with him.

I'll wait for the duke. Take him into the library and lock the door.

It's a hundred feet out of the window, and if he wants to break his

neck, he may do so. It will save us so much trouble. Take him away;

take him away!" his rage boiling to the surface.

The princess shrugged.

"I can't talk to you either," said the prince, turning his glowering

eyes upon the girl. "I can't trust myself."

"Oh, do not mind me. I understand that your command of expletives is

rather original. Go on; it will be my only opportunity." The princess

rocked backward and forward on the divan. Wasn't it funny!

"Lord help me, and I was perfectly willing to marry this girl!" The

prince suddenly calmed down. "What have I ever done to offend you?"

"Nothing," she was forced to admit.

"I was lonely. I wanted youth about. I wanted to hear laughter that

came from the heart and not from the mind. I do not see where I am to

be blamed. The duke suggested you to me; I believed you to be willing.

Why did you not say to me that I was not agreeable? It would have

simplified everything."

"I am sorry," she said contritely. When he spoke like this he wasn't

so unlovable.

"People say," he went on, "that I spend most of my time in my

wine-cellars. Well,"--defiantly,--"what else is there for me to do? I

am alone." Max came within his range of vision. "Take him away, I

tell you!"

And the colonel hustled Max into the library.

"Don't try the window," he warned, but with rather a pleasant smile.

He was only two or three years older than Max. "If you do, you'll

break your neck."

"I promise not to try," replied Max. "My neck will serve me many years

yet."

"It will not if you have the habit of running away with persons above

you in quality. Actions like that are not permissible in Europe." The

colonel spoke rather grimly, for all his smile.

The door slammed, there was a grinding of the key in the lock, and Max

was alone.

The library at Doppelkinn was all the name implied. The cases were low

and ran around the room, and were filled with romance, history,

biography, and even poetry. The great circular reading-table was

littered with new books, periodicals and illustrated weeklies. Once

Doppelkinn had been threatened with a literary turn of mind, but a bad

vintage coming along at the same time had effected a permanent cure.

Max slid into a chair and took up a paper, turning the pages at

random.--What was the matter with the room? Certainly it was not

close, nor damp, nor chill. What was it? He let the paper fall to the

floor, and his eyes roved from one object to another.--Where had he

seen that Chinese mask before, and that great silver-faced clock?

Somehow, mysterious and strange as it seemed, all this was vaguely

familiar to him. Doubtless he had seen a picture of the room

somewhere. He rose and wandered about.

In one corner of the bookshelves stood a pile of boy's books and some

broken toys with the dust of ages upon them. He picked up a row of

painted soldiers, and balanced them thoughtfully on his hand. Then he

looked into one of the picture-books. It was a Santa Claus story; some

of the pictures were torn and some stuck together, a reminder of

sticky, candied hands. He gently replaced the book and the toys, and

stared absently into space. How long he stood that way he did not

recollect, but he was finally aroused by the sound of slamming doors

and new voices. He returned to his chair and waited for the

dénouement, which the marrow in his bones told him was about to

approach.

It seemed incredible that he, of all persons, should be plucked out of

the practical ways of men and thrust into the unreal fantasies of

romance. A hubbub in a restaurant, a headlong dash into a carriage

compartment, a long ride with a princess, and all within three short

hours! It was like some weird dream. And how the deuce would it end?

He gazed at the toys again.

And then the door opened and he was told to come out. The grand duke

had arrived.

"This will be the final round-up," he laughed quietly, his thought

whimsically traveling back to the great plains and the long rides under

the starry night.