“Long live the King!”

And then someone cried:—­

“Long live Dalberg!” And the throng joined in it twice again.

How the King acknowledged it I do not know.  My whole attention was given to the Princess.  It was my first good view of her since the day I had acted as substitute groom.  For the bad few minutes lately passed had been given over to labial and mental sensations to the exclusion of the ocular.  Now I had more leisure while those ranking and senior to Courtney made their felicitations upon the royal birthday.

She was little changed from my lady of the forest; only a bit more roundness to the figure and maturity in the face, particularly about the set of the mouth when in repose.  Otherwise, she was the same charming woman who had smiled me into subjection six years before.  Beautiful?  Of course; but do not ask me for description, other than that she was medium in height, willowy in figure and dark blonde in type.  With that outline your imagination must fill in the rest.  Words only caricature a glorious woman.

When it came our turn, the King seemed to make it a point to greet me with marked cordiality; not waiting for my name to be announced, but stepping over to the edge of the dais to meet me and holding me in conversation an unusual time.  It was noticed to the Court that I had the royal favor.

Then, with the quiet aside:  “It’s all explained,” he passed me over to the Princess.

She was talking with Courtney, and turned and met me with a smile.

“Let us shake hands and be friends, cousin,” she said.

The graciousness of the gesture, was plain enough to the whole room, but the words reached only Courtney and me.

“I don’t deserve it—­cousin,” I said; but I took her hand, none the less.

Then, after a word more, we gave place to those that followed us.  But, as I bowed away, she said low:  “The sixth dance, cousin.”

And so I knew my peace was made.

I looked for some banter from Courtney, but there was none; only a bit of a smile under the grey moustache.  What he said was: 

“Come, let us circle the room and see whom we know.”

“We know none, if I’m to do the knowing,” I said.

“Queer state of affairs,” he reflected; “the true Heir Presumptive, yet a stranger in the Court.”

“Oh! drop that nonsense,” I said.

His hand went up to his imperial.  “Nonsense?  Well, maybe so,—­and there’s the pity of it.”

I laughed.  “My dear fellow,” I said, “you are becoming sentimental, and without even the excuse of a pretty woman in the case.”

He faced toward the throne.  “You don’t act like a blind man,” he said.

“I can see the Princess very clearly, but only with Major Dalberg’s eyes,” I replied.

“But if you were proclaimed the——­”

I cut him short.  “I am too old for rainbow-chasing, and Spanish Castles don’t become an ambassador.”