is this to end?" she asked. "Dear Ernest, we are not in
Paradise; we are in a hard cruel world which insists on distinctions in
rank. To what unhappy destiny does the fascination which you exercise
over me condemn us both?"

She paused--took one of the white roses out of her bosom--touched it
with her lips--and gave it to me.

"I wonder whether you feel the burden of life as I feel it?" she
resumed. "It is immaterial to me, whether we are united in this world or
in the next. Accept my rose, Ernest, as an assurance that I speak with
perfect sincerity. I see but two alternatives before us. One of them
(beset with dangers) is elopement. And the other," she added, with truly
majestic composure, "is suicide."

Would Englishmen in general have rightly understood such fearless
confidence in them as this language implied? I am afraid they might have
attributed it to what my friend the secretary called "German sentiment."
Perhaps they might even have suspected the Princess of quoting from
some old-fashioned German play. Under the irresistible influence of that
glorious creature, I contemplated with such equal serenity the perils of
elopement and the martyrdom of love, that I was for the moment at a loss
how to reply. In that moment, the evil genius of my life appeared in
the conservatory. With haste in her steps, with alarm in her face, the
Baroness rushed up to her royal mistress, and said, "For God's sake,
Madam, come away! The Prince desires to speak with you instantly."

Her Highness rose, calmly superior to the vulgar excitement of her lady
in waiting. "Think of it to-night," she said to me, "and let me hear
from you to-morrow."

She pressed my hand; she gave me a farewell look. I sank into the
chair that she had just left. Did I think of elopement? Did I think of
suicide? The elevating influence of the Princess no longer sustained me;
my nature became degraded. Horrid doubts rose in my mind. Did her father
suspect us?

IX.

NEED I say that I passed a sleepless night?

The morning found me with my pen in my hand, confronting the serious
responsibility of writing to the Princess, and not knowing what to say.
I had already torn up two letters, when Uncle David presented himself
with a message from his niece. Jeanne was in trouble, and wanted to ask
my advice.

My state of mind, on hearing this, became simply inexplicable. Here was
an interruption which ought to have annoyed me. It did nothing of the
kind--it inspi