, was
in my mother's boudoir, recovering from the effects of the fright she
had received. Side by side, unconscious of the part she was one day to
play in our several destinies, Max and I stood and watched her. For
myself, I can say that never in my life before had I seen so dainty and
bewitching a little creature. Beautiful as she is now--the loveliest
woman in Europe, they say, and I believe they speak the truth--she was
even more beautiful then. There was a spirituality about her--a
frailness, if I may so express it--that was almost fairylike.

"You have nothing to fear now, little one," said my mother, who held her
in her arms. "You have had a wonderful escape, and you must thank the
good God for your preservation."

Then, turning to one of the servants, she asked whether he had
discovered whose carriage it was. The man paused for a moment before he
replied.

"Why do you not answer?" my mother inquired. "Surely you must know?"

"I have been given to understand, your Majesty," the man answered
respectfully, "that the carriage was the property of His Highness the
Prince of Lilienhoehe, and that this young lady is his daughter, the
Princess Ottilie."

It was well known in the city that the Prince of Lilienhoehe had at last
reached the end of his treasonable tether, and that, only that day, to
save him further disgrace, he had been given a stated time in which to
quit the country. You may, therefore, imagine the effect the man's words
produced upon us, and my mother in particular. Being a child, I could
not of course understand what it meant, but the name of Lilienhoehe had
of late been of such ominous report in my ears, that I could scarcely
fail to be struck by the importance of the incident. The very title of
the Prince who was to go into exile had an ogreish ring about it for me;
and, though I had been told on good authority that he was a man of
remarkably handsome appearance, possessing the most pleasant manners,
and was devoted to little children, I was very far from crediting the
statement. In my youthful mind a man who was notoriously inimical to my
own family, and who had publicly called my mother the Enemy of Pannonia,
and had stated his wish to have us turned neck and crop out of the
country, could never be anything but a fiend in human shape. To see this
beautiful creature before me, however, and to have it on reliable
evidence that she was his daughter, somewhat disconcerted me. I looked
at the little