ack
to the rooms in feverish haste. Pembroke was still at his reading.

"Hello! What brings you back so soon?"

"She was not at home," I answered. I threw my coat and hat on the
sofa. I balanced the envelope in my hand. For some moments I
hesitated to open it. Something was wrong; if all had been well
Gretchen would not have left the city. I glanced at Pembroke. He went
on with his reading, unconcerned. Well, the sooner it was over, the
better. I drew forth the contents and read it.

"Herr Winthrop--Forgive the indiscretion of a Princess. On my honor, I
am sorry for having made you believe that you inspired me with the
grand passion. Folly finds plenty to do with idle minds. It was a
caprice of mine which I heartily regret. There is nothing to forgive;
there is much to forget. However, I am under great obligations to you.
I am positive that I shall love my sister as I have never loved a human
being before. She is adorable, and I can well comprehend why you
should love her deeply. Forgive me for playing with what the French
call your summer affections. I am about to leave for Hohenphalia to
prepare the way for the new sovereign. Will you kindly destroy that
one indiscreet letter which I, in the spirit of mischief, wrote you
last autumn?

"The Princess Hildegarde."

The envelope reminded me of a rusty scabbard; there was a very keen
weapon within. I lit my pipe and puffed for a while.

"Cousin," said I, "I have a premonition that I shall not kill Prince
Ernst of Wortumborg at six o'clock to-morrow morning."

"What put that into your head? You are not going to back down, after
all, are you?"

"Decidedly not. Something strikes me that I shall miss fire."

"Pshaw!" exclaimed Pembroke. "I have been thinking it over, and I've
come to the conclusion that it would not be a bad plan to rid this
world of a man like your Prince. It'll all come out right in the end.
You will wed the Princess Hildegarde just as sure as--as I will not wed
her sister." He spoke the last words rapidly, as though afraid of them.

"I shall never marry the Princess Hildegarde," said I. "She has gone."

"Gone? Where?"

"It matters not where. Suffice it is that she has gone. Pembroke, you
and I were very unfortunate fellows. What earthly use have Princesses
for you and me? The little knowledge of court we have was gotten out
of cheap books and newspaper articles. To talk with Kings and
Princesses it requires