in upon me.

"Your name, sir?" he demanded in a whisper.

"Petrovitch," I replied in the same tone.

"Come this way, if you please."

In less than a minute I was seated in the car, which was dashing at a
really dangerous pace through the nearly deserted streets.

"I am taking you to Potsdam," was all the explanation my companion
thought necessary.

It did not take us long to reach the famous palace of Frederick the
Great, which the growth of Berlin has almost turned into a suburban
residence.

My conductor brought me past all the sentries and servants, and led
me down some steps into what seemed to be a subterranean hall. It was
decorated with statues and paintings of the ancestors of Wilhelm II.,
together with weapons, suits of armor, and banners of the successive
periods in which they lived.

But the most striking object in the hall or crypt--for it might have
been either--was a trophy erected on a species of altar at one end,
exhibiting a variety of crowns.

At the foot were a number of small coronets, representing those worn
by the former Margraves of Brandenburg, in whom the Hohenzollern
family took its rise. Above were ranged the crowns of the Kings of
Prussia, that of Frederick the Great being in the center. Still
higher rose the three imperial crowns of Germany, those of William
I., Frederick III., and the present Emperor. And then, right on the
summit, came a still more gorgeous object, whose like I had never
seen before.

It was a colossal miter, somewhat after the fashion of the Papal
tiara, wrought out of pure gold, thickly studded with great pearls,
and surmounted by a cross.

But I had barely time to notice this singular display. As my guide
left me on the threshold of the hall, I was aware that I stood in the
presence of the German Emperor.

This extraordinary monarch, whose great and far-reaching views are
combined with a type of extravagance which has long made him looked
upon as the _enfant terrible_ of Europe, was about to teach me a new
side of his character.

He received me seated in a small ivory chair like a throne, and
attired in a garment of pontifical design.

"Advance, M. Petrovitch," he commanded in a loud voice.

As I stood in front of him, he said theatrically,

"I receive you in the Hall of the Hohenzollerns. You see around you
the sacred memorials of the family which Providence has raised up to
be the saviors of Europe, and the future rulers of the world."

In res