deceived. There
was recognition in the startled gaze of the newcomer, and of Maximilian
too. Only for Jacqueline did the situation hold aught that was amusing.

She was Mexican, a beautiful Mexican. She might have been Spanish too,
or Moorish even, or perhaps to say that she seemed a gentle, drooping
Egyptian would give the better idea of her dark loveliness. Under her
skin, under a faintest tinge of brown, the rich blood drove its color
through, and blending with that other shade, made the cheeks a dusky
ruby, and seemingly softer and warmer. Her figure had prettily rounded
curves, and her wine-red dress and the filmy black shawl over her
shoulders deepened the tender, trusting depths of two large black eyes.
The long lashes were wet with tears. She looked once at the calm French
woman, as though afraid of her, and then at Maximilian, and at
Maximilian alone. Her gaze was vacant, groping, non-comprehending, yet
with a something of heartbreak in the beginning of comprehension.

To the Hapsburg came the dignity of proud generations, exalted above
mere human scrutiny. He turned to Jacqueline, "As you see,
mademoiselle," he said coldly, "the stupid lackeys outside have admitted
a second visitor. If you will excuse us----"

"But Fernando----"

This time the girl's moan throbbed with questioning. She was as far from
understanding as before. But she noted unconsciously his princely
bearing, his European dress, and the luxury about him in the transformed
hacienda sala. Her eyes, in spite of grief and doubts, shone with timid,
admiring love. "Que elegante!" she breathed. "Oh, is he not, truly, a
caballero!"

"Fernando?" murmured Jacqueline. "Bonte divine, this _is_ bucolic!"

"But Fernando," the girl persisted, "who is there to--to admit me? I
only come from my room." With a tremulous gesture she indicated a door
which the imperial scene shifters had covered with portieres.
Maximilian's surprise at the existence of such a door was genuine. "And
I find," she cried, "I find you here, you, Fernando?"

"There, there, senorita," said Jacqueline kindly, "His Majesty, I
imagine, can explain----"

"Majesty?" exclaimed the girl. "Don Fernando--Majesty?" Yet a third time
she repeated it, as by rote; and, very slowly, understanding grew into
the words, and with understanding, terror. The dark innocent eyes went
appealingly from one to the other, and the lids began to flutter wildly
in a kind of spasm. "Majesty? Majesty?" Then, s