Chancellor smiled and said nothing.  Mr. Wentworth said nothing and smiled.  A cablegram from New York alarmed me.  It said:  “Was it you?” I answered, “Await letter.”  The letter contained my resignation, to take effect the moment my name became connected with the finding of the Princess Elizabeth.  A week or so later I received another cablegram, “Accept resignation.  Temptation too great.”  In some manner they secured a photograph of mine, and I became known as “The reporter who made a Princess;” and for many days the raillery at the clubs was simply unbearable.  But I am skipping the intermediate events, those which followed the scene in the King’s palace.

I was very unhappy.  Three days passed, and I saw neither Phyllis nor Gretchen.  The city was still talking about the dramatic ending of Prince Ernst’s engagement to the Princess Hildegarde, Twice I had called at the Hohenphalian residence to pay my respects.  Once I was told that Their Highnesses were at the palace.  The second time I was informed that Their Highnesses were indisposed.  I became gloomy and disheartened.  I could not understand.  Gretchen had not even thanked me for my efforts in saving her the unhappiness of marrying the Prince.  And Phyllis, she who had called me “Jack,” she whom I had watched grow from girlhood to womanhood, she, too, had forsaken me.  I do not know what would have become of me but for Pembroke’s cheerfulness.

Monday night I was sitting before the grate, reading for the hundredth time Gretchen’s only letter.  Pembroke was buried behind the covers of a magazine.  Suddenly a yellow flame leaped from a pine log, and in it I seemed to read all.  Gretchen was proud and jealous.  She believed that I loved Phyllis and had made her a Princess because I loved her.  It was the first time I had laughed in many an hour.  Pembroke looked over his magazine.

“That sounds good.  What caused it?”

“A story,” I answered.  “Some day I shall tell you all about it.  Have you noticed how badly I have gone about lately?”

“Have I!” he echoed.  “If I haven’t had a time of it, I should like to know!”

“Well, it is all over,” said I, placing a hand on his shoulder and smiling into his questioning eyes.  “Now if you will excuse me, cousin mine, I’ll make a call on her Serene Highness the Princess Hildegarde.”

Just then the door opened and Pembroke’s valet came in.  He handed a card to me, and I read upon it, “Count von Walden.”  I cast it into Pembroke’s lap.

“That’s the man.  He is the inseparable of the Prince of Wortumborg.”  Then to the valet, “Show him up.”

“What’s it all about?” asked Pembroke.

“Honestly, I should like to run away,” I said musingly.  The snow on the housetops across the way sparkled in the early moonshine.  “It’s about a woman.  If I live—­ah!” I went to the door and swung it open.  The Count gravely passed over the threshold.