imson to her hair.

"Because you won't have to sell yourself at a sacrifice," he said,
foolishly. Lorry came back to them at this juncture, outwardly calm and
deliberate.

"Tell us about it, pray. We had guessed as much."

"Out there are his people,--the wretches!" she cried, vindictively, her
pretty face in a helpless frown. "To-day was the day, you know, on which
he was to have his answer. He came and knelt in the audience chamber.
All Graustark had implored her to refuse the hated offer, but she bade
him rise, and there, before us all; promised to become his bride.

"The greatest sorrow Graustark has ever known grows out of that
decision. She is determined to save for us what her father's folly lost.
To do this she becomes the bride of a vile wretch, a man who soils her
pure nature when he thinks of her. Oh, we sought to dissuade her,--we
begged, we entreated, but without avail. She will not sacrifice one
foot of Graustark to save herself. See the triumphant smiles on their
faces--the brutes!" She pointed maliciously to the chattering visitors
in the hall. "Already they think the castle theirs. The union of
Graustark and Axphain! Just what they most desired, but we could not
make her see it so."

"Is the day set?" asked Lorry, bravely, after a moments silent
inspection of the dark-browed victors.

"Yes, and there is to be no delay. The marriage contract has already
been signed. The date is November 20th, the day on which we are to
account to Bolaroz for our war debt.

"The old Prince's wedding gift to Graustark is to be a document favoring
us with a ten years' extension," she said, scornfully.

"And where is she to live?"

"Here, of course. She is Graustark's ruler, and here she insists on
abiding. Just contemplate our court! Over-run with those Axphain dogs!
Ah, she has wounded Graustark more than she has helped her."

There was nothing more to be said or done, so, after a few moments, the
Americans took their departure. The Countess bade them farewell, saying
that she must return to the Princess.

"I'll see you to-morrow," said Anguish, with rare assurance and the air
of an old and indispensable friend.

"And you, Mr. Lorry?" she said, curiously.

"I am very much occupied," he mumbled.

"You do wrong in seeking to deceive me," she whispered, as Anguish
passed through the door ahead of them. "I know why you do not come."

"Has she told you?"

"I have guessed. Would that it could have been you and