e like?" disengaging his hand and turning her face toward the
window.

"That no one seems to know. He has been to his capital but twice in ten
years, which doubtless pleased his uncle, who loves power for its own
sake. The young king has been in Paris most of the time. That's the way
they educate kings these days. They teach them all the vices and make
virtue an accident. Your father loves you, and if you are inclined
toward his majesty, if it is in your heart to become a queen, I shall
not let my prejudices stand in the way."

She caught up his hand with a strange passion and kissed it.

"Father, I do not want to marry any one," wistfully. "But a queen!" she
added thoughtfully.

"It is only a sound, my dear; do not let it delude you. Herbeck advises
this alliance, and while I realize that his judgment is right, my whole
soul revolts against it. But all depends upon you."

"Would it benefit the people? Would it be for the good of the state?"

Here was reason. "Yes; my objections are merely personal," said the
duke.

"For the good of my country, which I love, I am ready to make any
sacrifice. I shall think it over."

"Very well; but weigh the matter carefully. There is never any retracing
a step of this kind." He stood up, his heart heavy. Saying no more, he
moved toward the door.

She gazed after him, and suddenly and silently she stretched out her
arms, her eyes and face and lips yearning with love. Curiously enough,
the duke happened to turn. He was at her side in a moment, holding her
firm in his embrace.

"You are all I have, girl!" with a bit of break in his voice.

"My father!" She stroked his cheek.

When he left the room it was with lighter step.

The restoration of the Princess Hildegarde of Ehrenstein had been the
sensation of Europe, as had been in the earlier days her remarkable
abduction. For sixteen years the search had gone on fruitlessly. The
cleverest adventuresses on the continent tried devious tricks to palm
themselves off as the lost princess. From France they had come, from
Prussia, Italy, Austria, Russia and England. But the duke and the
chancellor held the secret, unknown to any one else--a locket. In a
garret in Dresden the agents of Herbeck found her, a singer in the
chorus of the opera. The newspapers and illustrated weeklies raged about
her for a while, elaborated the story of her struggles, the mysterious
remittances which had, from time to time, saved her from direst poverty,