"I know," he said briefly, almost bitterly.

"My brother, Christobal, has been with us after two years' absence. He came with his wife from the ends of the earth, and my father forgave him in good earnest. Christobal was very disobedient in the old days. He refused to marry the girl my father chose for him. Was it not foolish of him?"

"Not if it has turned out well in the end."

"I daresay it has--or will. She is delightful. My father loves her. And my father--the Grand Duke, I should say--does not love those who cross him. One is very fortunate to have been born a prince." He thought he detected a note of bitterness in this raillery.

"I can conceive of no greater fortune than to have been born Prince Karl of Brabetz," he said lightly. She flashed a quick glance at his face, her eyes narrowing in the effort to divine his humour. He saw the cloud which fell over her face and was suddenly silent, contrite for some unaccountable reason.

"As I was saying," she resumed, after a moment, "Lady Deppingham has lured me from sunshowers into the tempest. Mr. Chase," and her face was suddenly full of real concern, "is there truly great danger?"

"I fear so," he answered. "It is only a question of time. I have tried to check this uprising, but I've failed. They don't trust me. Last night Von Blitz, Rasula and three others came to the bungalow and coolly informed me that my services were no longer required. I told them to--to go to--"

"I understand," she said quickly. "It required courage to tell them that." He smiled.

"They protested friendship, but I can read very well as I run. But can't we find something more agreeable to talk about? May I say that I have not seen a newspaper in three months? The world has forgotten me. There must be news that you can give me. I am hungry for it."

"You poor man! No newspapers! Then you don't know what has happened in all these months?"

"Nothing since before Christmas. Would you like to see a bit of news that I clipped from the last Paris paper that came into my hands?"

"Yes," she said, vaguely disturbed. He drew forth his pocketbook and took from its interior a small bit of paper, which he handed to her, a shamed smile in his eyes. She read it at a glance and handed it back. A faint touch of red came into her cheeks.

"How very odd! Why should you have kept that bit of paper all these months?"

"I will admit that the announcement of the approaching nuptials of two persons whom I had met so casually may seem a strange thing to cherish, but I am a strange person. You have been married nearly three months,"

he said reflectively. "Three months and two days, to be precise."

She laughed outright, a bewitching, merry laugh that startled him.

"How accurate you would be," she exclaimed. "It would be a highly interesting achievement, Mr. Chase, if it were only borne out by facts.

You see, I have not been married so much as three minutes."

He stared at her, uncomprehending.

She went on: "Do you consider it bad luck to postpone a wedding?"

Involuntarily he drew his horse closer to hers. There was a new gleam in his eyes; her blood leaped at the challenge they carried.

"Very bad luck," he said quite steadily; "for the bridegroom."

In an instant they seemed to understand something that had not even been considered before. She looked away, but he kept his eyes fast upon her half-turned face, finding delight in the warm tint that surged so shamelessly to her brow. He wondered if she could hear the pounding of his heart above the thud of the horses' feet.

"We are to be married in June," she said somewhat defiantly. Some of the light died in his eyes. "Prince Karl was very ill. They thought he might die. His--his studies--his music, I mean, proved more than he could carry. It--it is not serious. A nervous break-down," she explained haltingly.

"You mean that he--" he paused before finishing the sentence--"collapsed?"

"Yes. It was necessary to postpone the marriage. He will be quite well again, they say--by June."

Chase thought of the small, nervous, excitable prince and in his mind there arose a great doubt. They might p.r.o.nounce him cured, but would it be true? "I hope he may be fully recovered, for your sake," he managed to say.

"Thank you." After a long pause, she turned to him again and said: "We are to live in Paris for a year or two at least."

Then Chase understood. Prince Karl would not be entirely recovered in June. He did not ask, but he knew in some strange way that his physicians were there and that it would be necessary for him to be near them.

"He is in Paris now?"

"No," she answered, and that was all. He waited, but she did not expand her confidence.

"So it is to be in June?" he mused.

"In June," she said quietly. He sighed.

"I am more than sorry that you are a princess," he said boldly.

"I am quite sure of that," she said, so pointedly that he almost gasped.

She was laughing comfortably, a mischievous gleam in her dark eyes. His laugh was as awkward as hers was charming.

"You _do_ like to be flattered," he exclaimed at random. "And I shall take it upon myself to add to to-day's measure." He again drew forth his pocketbook. She looked on curiously. "Permit me to restore the lace handkerchief which you dropped some time ago. I've been keeping it for myself, but----"

"My handkerchief?" she gasped, her thoughts going at once to that ridiculous incident of the balcony. "It must belong to Lady Deppingham."

"Oh, it isn't the one you used on the balcony," he protested coolly. "It antedates that adventure."

"Balcony? I don't understand you," she contested.

"Then you are exceedingly obtuse."

"I never dreamed that you could see," she confessed pathetically.

"It was extremely nice in you and very presumptuous in me. But, your highness, this is the handkerchief you dropped in the Castle garden six months ago. Do you recognise the perfume?"

She took it from his fingers gingerly, a soft flush of interest suffusing her cheek. Before she replied, she held the dainty bit of lace to her straight little nose.

"You are very sentimental," she said at last. "Would you care to keep it? It is of no value to me."

"Thanks, I will keep it."

"I've changed my mind," she said inconsequently, stuffing the fabric in her gauntlet. "You have something else in that pocketbook that I should very much like to possess."

"It can't be that Bank of England--"

"No, no! You wrapped it in a bit of paper last week and placed it there for safe keeping."

"You mean the bullet?"

"Yes. I should like it. To show to my friends, you know, when I tell them how near you were to being shot." Without a word he gave her the bullet that had dropped at his feet on that first day at the chateau.

"Thank you. Oh, isn't it a horrid thing! Just to think, it might have struck you!" She shuddered.