ould be demanded
for his release.

In a warm-tinted room at the Castle, later on in the evening, the
Prince, in pajamas, was discoursing bravely on the idiosyncrasies of
Fate. His only auditor was the mournful Loraine, who sat beside the
royal bed in which he wriggled vaguely. The attendants were far down the
room.

"Never mind, Aunt Loraine, you can't help it. I'm just as sorry as you
are. Say, are you in love with him?"

"In love with whom?"

"Mr. King."

"Of course not, silly. What an absurd question. I do not know him at
all."

"That's all right, Aunt Loraine. I believe in love at first sight. He is
a--"

"Bobby! Don't be foolish. How could I be in love with _him_?"

"Well, you can't help it sometimes. Even princes fall in love without
knowing it."

"I suppose so," dreamily.

"It's mighty hard to make up your mind which one you love best, though.
Dr. Barrett's daughter in New York is awful nice, but I think she's--"

"She is twenty years older than you, Bobby, if you mean to say you are
in love with her."

"Well, but I'll grow up, auntie. Anyhow, Paula Vedrowski is not so old
as I. She is--"

"For heaven's sake, Bobby, do go to sleep!"

"Don't you care to hear about _my_ love affairs?"

"You are perfectly ridiculous!"

"All right for you, auntie. I shan't listen when you want to tell me
about yours. Gee, Uncle Jack listens, you bet. I wish he was here this
minute. Say, is he ever going to get married?" There was no answer. He
peered over the top of the pillow. There were tears in his Aunt
Loraine's eyes. "Oh, say, auntie, darling, don't cry! I'll--I'll go to
sleep, honest!"

She was not in love with Truxton King, but she was a fine,
tender-hearted girl, who suffered because of the thing that had happened
to him and because she loved his sister.

Over in the Hotel Regengetz, on a little table in the centre of the
room, lay a thick envelope with the royal arms emblazoned in the upper
corner. It contained an invitation to the private circus that had been
arranged for the little Prince, and it bore the name of Truxton King.

Across the foot of the bed hung his evening clothes, laid out by a
faithful and well-tipped house valet, snug and ready for instant use.

But where was Truxton King?

CHAPTER X

THE IRON COUNT

When King, in the kindness of his heart, grasped the old woman to keep
her from falling to the floor, he played directly into the hands of very
material agencies unde