lously to
the Princess:

"Please don't be angry with Monsieur Poluski. His brusk manner often
gets him into trouble. Forgive me for saying it, but your son knows him
well, and is very fond of him, and I am sure Felix would do anything
that lay in his power to help--to help King Alexis III."

"My son! Do you also know him?"

"Yes."

"Have you met him in Paris?"

"Yes."

"But I have never seen you at the Rue Boissiere."

"No. We met at Rudin's, and sometimes in the Louvre."

"And does he know that you are coming to Delgratz?"

"No. I assure you----"

The Princess hesitated. It was not in her kind heart to think evil of
this singularly frank looking and attractive girl. "Will you tell me
your name?" she said, turning with one foot on the step; for they were
about to enter separate carriages.

"Joan Vernon."

"I suppose it is idle to ask, but you are not married?"

"No, nor likely to be for a very long time."

"Aboard!" cried a guard, marveling that women could find so much to say
at the very last moment.

"Well," said the Princess, "I hope to see you at dinner. If not, in
Delgratz."

Joan took good care that no one except her maid and an attendant saw her
again that evening. She felt bruised and buffeted as though she had been
carried among rocks by some irresistible current. Even her mind refused
to act. The why and the wherefore of events were dim and not to be
grasped. Over and over again she regretted the impulse that led her to
take this journey. Felix, as friend and artistic tutor, was invaluable;
but in the guise of mentor for a young woman who had her own way to make
in the world, and nothing more to depend on than her artistic faculties
and a small income from a trust fund, he was a distinct failure. What
would Alec think of it all? And what would Alec's mother say when her
son told her that Joan Vernon was the woman he meant to marry?

So Joan grew miserable, and developed a headache, and wept a little over
perplexities that were very real though she could not define them. And
Felix dined alone, and smoked in dumb reverie, and when Prince Michael,
warmed with wine and cheered by the knowledge that a wearisome journey
was drawing to a close, unbent so far as to ask him to sing, the little
man shook his head.

"You'll hear me singing in Delgratz, Monseigneur," he said. "I shall
have something to think about then, and I sing to think, just as you
live to eat. At present, there isn't a note i