t 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 swun