"ungentlemanly," as Jimmie calls me.

Innsbruck is the capital of Tyrol, and the whole country of Tyrol is
like a picture-book. Its history is so stirring, its country so
beautiful, its people are so picturesque. There are any number of dainty
little lakes lying in among its mountains, which are accessible to the
tourist, and therefore semi-public, by which I mean not as public as the
Swiss or Italian lakes. But up the Inn River a few miles, and completely
hidden from the tourist, being out of the way and little known to
Americans, there lies the most lovely lake of all, the Achensee, and all
around it the Tyrolese peasants, as they ought to be allowed to remain,
simple, primitive, natural. We wanted to see them dance. So regardless
of whether an iron bound itinerary would take us there next, we folded
away our maps, put our trust in our little yellow coupon ticket book,
and started for the Achensee. From the moment we began to see less of
tourists and more of the natives, Jimmie's and my spirits rose. Chiffon
and patent leather might belong to Bee and Mrs. Jimmie, but here in the
Austrian Tyrol, Jimmie and I were getting our innings.

We got off the train at Jenbach and left our trunks there. Then on the
same platform, but behind it, and a few yards beyond the station, there
is a curious little hunchbacked engine and an open car. Into this car we
climbed with our handbags, and beheld on the same seat with Mrs. Jimmie
a beautiful woman in a gown unmistakably from Paris, who looked so
familiar that we could scarcely keep from staring her out of
countenance. Finally Bee leaned across and whispered:

"Don't look, but isn't that Madame Carreno?"

Without heeding Bee's polite warning, I turned and pounced upon my idol.

"Madame Carreno!"

"My _dear_ child!"

"What in the world are you doing here?"

"Why I _live_ here! And you? How came _you_ to find your way to this
inaccessible spot?"

"We are going to the Achensee--to the Hotel Rhiner, to hear Fraeulein
Therese--"

"You have heard of my little friend Therese, and you have come--how many
thousand miles?--to hear her sing and play on her zither?"

"To do all that, but mostly to see if she will tell me her love story."

"How do you know she had one?" inquired Madame Carreno, quickly.

"I heard of it in England. Some one who knew the duke told me."

"It was a lucky escape for her, and I think she will tell you all about
it. You see it happened, ah, so many yea