me new argument to bring
forward. Yet what had he to urge that he had not already urged twice
over? What could he say at this eleventh hour which would not only
induce her to await his coming at Felgarde, but justify him in making
a last appeal when he came to explain it in person?

As he stood pen in hand, suddenly he found himself recalling a fairy
story which he had never tired of reading in his childhood. Under the
disguise of fancy, it was a lesson against vacillation, and he had
often said to himself as a boy, that when he grew up, he would not,
like the Prince of the story, miss a gift of the gods through weak
hesitation.

The pretty legend in his mind had for a hero a young prince who went
abroad to seek his fortune, and received from one of the Fates to
whom he paid a visit, three magic citrons which he must cut open by
the side of a certain fountain. He obeyed his instructions; but when
from the first citron sprang an exquisite fairy maiden, demanding a
drink of water, the young man lost his presence of mind. While he sat
staring, the lovely lady vanished; and with a second experiment it was
the same. Only the third citron remained of the Fates' squandered
gifts, and when the Prince cut it in half, the maiden who appeared was
so much more beautiful than her sisters, that in adoring wonder he
almost lost her as he had lost the others.

"My knife is on the rind of the last citron now," Leopold said to
himself. "Let me not lose the one chance I have left."

Last night he had believed that there would not be room in a man's
heart for more love than his held for Helen Mowbray; but realizing to
the full how great was the danger of losing her, he found that his
love had grown beyond reckoning.

He had thought it a sacrifice to suggest a morganatic marriage. Now, a
voice seemed to say in his ear, "The price you offered was not enough.
Is love worth all to you or not?" And he answered, "It is worth all.
I will offer all, yet not count it a sacrifice. That is love, and
nothing less is love."

A white light broke before his eyes, like a meteor bursting, and the
voice in his ear spoke words that sent a flame through his veins.

"I will do it," he said. "Who is there among my people who will dare
say 'no' to their Emperor's 'yes'? I will make a new law. I will be a
law unto myself."

His face, that had been pale, was flushed. He tore up the unfinished
telegram, and wrote another, which he signed "Leo, the Chamois