“Since the year 1777.”

He leaned a bit forward.  “That was during your Revolutionary War.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.  It was that year Lafayette joined Washington’s Army.”  That will give him a surprise, I thought.

It did.

“Do you know the name of the Dalberg of 1777?” he asked quickly.

I saw no profit in evasion.  “He was Hugo, second son of Henry the Third of Valeria,” I replied.

“I knew it,” he exclaimed, jumping up and coming over to me.  “And you are?”

“His great-grandson and eldest male heir.”

“Then, as such, I salute you, cousin,” he said, and suddenly kissed me on the cheek.

Were you ever kissed by a man?  If so, and you are a woman, it doubtless was pleasant enough, and, maybe, not unusual; but if you are a man, it will surprise you mightily the first time.

Of course, I understood all the significance of Frederick’s action.  Royalty on the Continent so greets only royalty or relatives.  It meant I was accepted as one of the Blood and a Prince of my House.  I admit my pride was stirred.

“Your Majesty overwhelms me,” I said, bowing again.  “I expected no recognition.  I am entitled to none.  Our name was stricken from the Family Roll.”

He made a deprecating gesture.  “Don’t let that disturb you, cousin.”

“And believe me, also, I had no intention to disclose my relationship,” I protested.

The King laughed.  “You could not hide it with that face,” he said.

I must have flushed, for he exclaimed:  “Ha!  You know that, do you?”

For answer I drew out the miniature of old Henry, which I had brought hoping for an opportunity to compare it with the original, and handed it to him.

He gave it a quick glance and nodded.  “Yes, that went with Hugo,” he said.

I was surprised and looked it.

“Oh, the family records are very complete as to the affair of your headstrong ancestor,” he explained.  “Old Henry himself set it all out in his journal; and he speaks of this very miniature as having been given to Hugo by his mother, the day he left Dornlitz.  There were two of them, copied from the portrait in the Corridor.”  He crossed to a cabinet.  “And here is the other one,” he said.

I glanced at Courtney.  He threw up his hands in defeat; at the same time, however, signifying that I should press my advantage while the King was so well disposed.

But I shook my head.  My descent had been acknowledged, and that was quite enough—­more than enough, indeed.  I had come to Valeria as a Major in the American Army.  I sought no favors from the Dalbergs here.  From which it would seem that a bit of Hugo’s stubborn independence had come down to me.  As for Courtney, the shrug of his shoulders was very eloquent of what he thought of such independence.

“Perchance you never heard of a certain letter dispatched to Hugo by his brother, Frederick, after Henry’s death?” the King asked.