hat noble lady, noble in every
sense of the word, his mother, the Empress.'

"I watched the young man narrowly as I said this, and despite his
self-control, he winced perceptibly, and I thought I saw a gleam of
recognition in his eyes. He thrust the sword back into its scabbard, and
said with a light laugh:

"''Tis I that should beg your pardon for my haste and roughness. I
assure you I honor the cloth you wear, and would not willingly offer it
violence. We are all liable to make mistakes at times. I freely forgive
yours and trust you will extend a like leniency to mine.'

"With that he doffed his hat, and left me standing there."

"Surely," said the Countess, deeply interested in the recital, "so far
as speech was concerned he made amends?"

"Yes, my daughter; such speech never came from the lips of an
ironworker."

"You are convinced he was the Prince?"

"Never for one instant did I doubt it."

"Be that as it may, Father Ambrose, why should not the young man walk
the streets of his own capital city, and even explore the laborers'
quarter of Sachsenhausen, if he finds it interesting to do so? Is it not
his right to wear a sword, and go where he lists; and is it such a very
heinous thing that, being accosted by a stranger, he should refuse to
make the admission demanded? You took him, as one might say, unaware."

The monk bowed his head, but did not waste time in offering any defense
of his action.

"I followed him," he went on, "through the narrow and tortuous streets
of Frankfort, an easy adventure, because darkness had set in, but even
in daylight my course would have been safe enough, for never once did he
look over his shoulder, or betray any of that suspicion characteristic
of our laboring classes."

"I think that tells in his favor," persisted the girl.

"He came to the steps of the Rheingold, a disreputable drinking cellar,
and disappeared from my sight down its steps. A great shout greeted him,
and the rattle of tankards on a table, as he joined what was evidently
his coterie. Standing outside, I heard song and ribaldry within. The
heir-presumptive to the throne of the Empire was too obviously a drunken
brawler; a friend and comrade of the lowest scum in Frankfort.

"After a short time he emerged alone, and once more I followed him. He
went with the directness of a purposeful man to the Fahrgasse, the
street of the rich merchants, knocked at a door, and was admitted. Along
the first-floor front