all in love, I should have
laughed."

"And I!"

Arm in arm they went on. Sometimes Gretchen sang; often he put her hand
to his lips. By and by they came abreast of an old Gipsy. He wore a
coat of Joseph's, and his face was as lined as a frost-bitten apple. But
his eyes were keen and undimmed, and he walked confidently and erect,
like a man who has always lived in the open.

"Will you tell me how to find the Adlergasse?" he asked in broken
German. His accent was that of a Magyar. He had a smattering of a dozen
tongues at his command, for in his time he had crossed and recrossed the
Danube, the Rhine, and the Rhone.

They carelessly gave him specific directions and passed on. He followed
grimly, like fate, whose agent he was, though long delayed. When he
reached the Adlergasse he looked for a sign. He came to a stop in front
of the dingy shop of the clock-mender. He went inside, and the ancient
clock-mender looked up from his work, for he was always working.

He rose wearily and asked what he could do for his customer. His eyes
were bothering him, so the fact that the man was a Gipsy did not at
first impress him.

The Gipsy smiled mysteriously and laid a hand on his heart.

"Who are you?" sharply demanded the clock-mender.

"Who I am does not matter. I am he whom you seek."

"God in Heaven!" The bony hands of the clock-mender shot out and
clutched the other's coat in a grip which shook, so intense was it. The
Gipsy released himself slowly. "But first show me your pretty crowns and
the paper which will give me immunity from the police. I know something
about you. You never break your word. That is why I came. Your crowns,
as you offered, and immunity; then I speak."

"Man, I can give you the crowns, but God knows I have no longer the
power to give you immunity."

"So?"

The Gipsy shouldered his bundle.

"For God's sake, wait!" begged the clock-mender.

But the Gipsy walked out, unheeding.

CHAPTER XVIII

A WHITE SCAR

Two days later, in the afternoon.

"Grumbach," said Carmichael, "what the deuce were you looking at the
other night, with those opera-glasses?"

"At the ball?" Grumbach pressed down the ash in his pipe and brushed his
thumb on his sleeve. "I was looking into the past."

"With a pair of opera-glasses?"

"Yes." Grumbach was perfectly serious.

"Oh, pshaw! You were following her highness with them. I want to know
why."

"She is beautiful."

"You made a promise to me not