Manolescu’s attempt at escape, his simulation of madness, and the interviews with his wife, who came to Frankfurt that she might see him, need not be detailed at length. It is enough to say that he was extradited to Switzerland, tried and sentenced to only six months’ hard labour. Having regard to the strictness of the Swiss laws, this was a mild sentence, but Manolescu was not considered by the authorities to be in his right mind. In September of 1900, after his release, he crossed once more to America, where he carried out a large robbery successfully, and returning to Paris, again lived on the very crest of the wave, frequenting the same fashionable circles and attributing his long absence from France to family affairs. He now assumed the title of Prince Lahovary, and had a neat prince’s coronet printed on his visiting cards. He posed as a bachelor, looked about for a wife, and proposed to a young American widow whom he met at Boulogne, where she was staying with her father and brother. She evinced some inclination to accept him and some of her relatives favoured the “prince’s” suit. At the end of three weeks’ courtship they parted, agreeing to meet later on in Berlin. Lahovary, as we must now call him, returned temporarily to Paris, where he literally wallowed in luxury. The large sums he spent he managed to provide for the time being by play, for he was a most inveterate gambler, although not usually lucky, as he calculated that he had lost altogether 1,800,000 francs at cards during his career. In November he arrived, as agreed, in Berlin, accompanied by a secretary and valet, and made his entry into the proud German capital as “Prince Lahovary,” a great personage by whom all Europe was presently to be dazzled and who was to be the subject of endless talk. He established himself with his suite at the Kaiserhof, still falsely pretending to be unmarried, and continued his courtship of the young widow. But his resources soon melted, and he was forced to undertake a fresh robbery on a large scale, which led to his undoing. On the evening of this theft he left Berlin for Dresden, where he sold some of the jewelry he had stolen to a court jeweller for 12,000 marks, and then returned to Berlin to take a temporary leave of his American friends, explaining to them that important affairs called him to Genoa. The father of the young widow proposed that as he and his son and daughter were shortly to sail for America from that port, they should all meet there, and they arranged a rendezvous for January 10, 1901. Now occurred a dramatic little incident in the life of this strange man worth recording.