to call Heaven to witness
that he was a very much wronged man.

"Arnheim," he said to the young colonel, "go at once for a priest."

"A priest!" echoed the prince.

"Yes; the girl shall marry you to-night," declared his serene Highness.

"Not if I live to be a thousand!" Doppelkinn struck the table with his
fist.

The girl smiled at Max.

"What?" cried the duke, all the coldness gone from his tones. "You
refuse?" He was thunderstruck.

"Refuse? Of course I refuse!" And the prince thumped the table again.
"What do you think I am in my old age,--an ass? If you have any
fillies to break, use your own pastures. I'm a vintner." He banged
the table yet again. "Why, I wouldn't marry the Princess Hildegarde if
she was the last woman on earth!"

"Thank you!" said the princess sweetly.

"You're welcome," said the prince.

"Silence!" bellowed the duke. "Doppelkinn, take care; this is an
affront, not one to be lightly ignored. It is international news that
you are to wed my niece."

"To-morrow it will be international news that I'm _not_!" The emphasis
this time threatened to crack the table-leaf. "I'm not going to risk
my liberty with a girl who has no more sense of dignity than she has."

"It is very kind of you," murmured the princess.

"She'd make a fine wife," went on the prince, ignoring the
interruption. "No, a thousand times no! Take her away--life's too
short; take her away! Let her marry the fellow; he's young and may get
over it."

The duke was furious. He looked around for something to strike, and
nothing but the table being convenient, he smashed a leaf and sent a
vase clattering to the floor. He was stronger than the prince,
otherwise there wouldn't have been a table to thwack.

"That's right; go on! Break all the furniture, if it will do you any
good; but mark me, you'll foot the bill." The prince began to dance
around. "I will not marry the girl. That's as final as I can make it.
The sooner you calm down the better."

How the girl's eyes sparkled! She was free. The odious alliance would
not take place.

"Who is that?"

Everybody turned and looked at Max. His arm was leveled in the
direction of a fine portrait in oil which hung suspended over the
fireplace. Max was very pale.

"What's that to you?" snarled the prince. He was what we Yankees call
"hopping mad." The vase was worth a hundred crowns, and he never could
find a leaf to replace the one just broken.

"