maid seated in my mother's lap with a fresh curiosity, and
endeavoured to take soundings of the position. It was beyond me,
however. Could she be a second Gerda (I was busy with Hans Andersen at
the time); and would she turn out to be a robber maiden who tickled
reindeers' throats with a sharp knife, and laughed to see their fear? I
was in the midst of my cogitations, and was vaguely wondering what the
Count von Marquart would say if he knew that his enemy's daughter was in
the palace, when the little maid, yearning for younger sympathy, I
suppose, slipped from my mother's knee, and, crossing the room to where
I stood, took possession of my hand.

"I like you," she said, looking up into my face with her beautiful eyes;
and from that moment the pressure of her tiny fingers, and the
remembrance of the look she gave me then, have been among my most
cherished memories.

By my mother's orders, a carriage had been brought for her, and one of
the ladies-in-waiting had been deputed to take her back to her father's
house. While the necessary preparations were being made, we passed out,
still hand-in-hand, into the great vestibule.

It was the first time for more than a hundred years that a Ramonyi and a
Lilienhoehe had walked together, and there were some who looked upon it
as an augury.

It was quite certain that she had not yet altogether recovered from the
shock the accident had given her, for her face was still pale, and her
hand trembled in mine.

"What is your name?" she asked in childish accents, as we stood before
the statue of the Great Founder, the same who had bequeathed to me the
Michael Cross of famous memory.

"Paul," I answered: "Paul Michael George." I gave it in full in order
that the fact might be more clearly impressed upon her memory.

"I shall 'member," she returned gravely; and for the second time she
added--"I like you."

At this moment the carriage made its appearance, and the Baroness
Rabovsdin, to whom my mother had entrusted the responsibility of
conveying the child back to her father's house, went down the steps and
entered it. With a gravity beyond my years, I led Princess Ottilie down
to it, and helped her to her seat beside the Baroness. Then the carriage
drove away, and that was the last I saw of the daughter of the Prince of
Lilienhoehe for many years to come.

CHAPTER II.

Although my father, acting on the advice of his Ministers, had taken the
decisive step of banishing th