en mixed
up in some trouble or other. Here it is a round of pleasure from day to
day. I long for buffets. I am wicked enough to wish for war."

"_Cherchez la femme!_" she cried. "There is a woman?"

"Oh, yes!" recklessly.

"Then go to her, my friend, go to her." And she waved her crop over his
head as in benediction. "Some day, before you go, I shall ask you all
about her." Ah, as if she did not know! But half the charm in life is
playing with hidden dangers.

He did not speak, but caught up the reins firmly. She touched her mare
on the flank, and the four began trotting, a pace which they maintained
as far as the military field. Here they paused, for the scene was
animated and full of color. Squadrons of cavalry raced across the
field; infantry closed in or deployed; artillery rumbled, wheeled,
stopped, unlimbered. Bang-bang! The earth shivered and rocked. Guerdons
were flying, bugles were blowing, and sabers were flashing.

"It is beautiful," she cried, "this mimic war."

"May your highness never see aught else!" he replied fervently.

"Yes, yes; you have seen it divested of all its pomp. You have seen it
in all its cruelty and horror."

"I have known even the terror of it."

"You were afraid?"

"Many times."

She laughed. It is only the coward who denies fear.

He would certainly ask for his recall or transfer. He was eating his
heart out here in Dreiberg.

They began the incline. She did most of the talking, brightly and gaily;
but his ears were dull, for the undercurrent passed by him. He was, for
the first time, impressed with the fact that the young ladies of the
court never accompanied her on her morning rides. There were frequent
afternoon excursions, when several ladies and gentlemen rode with her
highness, but in the mornings, never.

"Will you return to America?" she queried.

"I shall idle in Paris for a while. I have an idea that there will be
war one of these days."

"And which side will you take?"

"I should be a traitor if I fought for France; I should be an ingrate if
I fought against her. I should be a spectator, a neutral."

"That would expose you to danger without the right to strike a blow in
defense."

"If I were hurt it would be but an accident. War correspondents would
run a hundred more risks than I. Oh, I should be careful; I know war too
well not to be."

"All this is strange talk for a man who is a confessed lover."

"Pardon me!" his eyes rather empty.

"Why, yo