s. It gives motive for the Crown Prince’s estrangement.”

Her head was bent, her hands were trembling. The iron had entered her soul.

The people—the people whom she so dearly loved, and who had waved their hands and shouted those glad welcomes to her as she drove out—were now whispering of Leitolf.

She bit her lip, and her countenance went pale as death as the truth arose before her in all its hideous ghastliness.

Even the man at her side, the humble man who had stood by her as her friend, knew that Leitolf was there—in Vienna—to be near her. Even Steinbach could have no further respect for her as a woman—only respect because she was one day to be his sovereign.

Her hands were clenched; she held her breath, and shivered as the chill wind cut through her. She longed to be back in her father’s palace; to be alone in her room to think.

“And nothing more?” she asked in that same blank voice which now caused her companion to wonder.

“Only that they say evil of you that is not worth repeating,” was his brief answer.

She sighed again, and then when she had sufficiently recovered from the effect of his words, she whispered in a low voice,—

“I—I can only thank you, Steinbach, for giving me this warning. Forgive me if—if I am somewhat upset by it—but I am a woman—and perhaps it is only natural. Trust me to say nothing. Leave Vienna to-night and return home. If you ever wish to communicate with me write guardedly, making an appointment, and address your letter to Madame Emond at the Poste Restante in Brussels. You will recollect the name?”

“Most certainly I shall, your Highness. I can only ask pardon for