"Ah! you are ambitious, Rudolf. My dreams are less exalted. I only dreamed that a certain _gnadiges fräulein_ did more than 'almost' love me; that she even cared for me 'more than the others.' It was not a bad dream, Rudolf," he added, casting his eyes over the missive, "and the letter is not a bad awakening." "You have read it, Excellency?" "Yes, it is short and sweet. '_Meet me at the confectioner's at the corner of the Königstrasse and the Etizabethstrasse at eleven._' That is all, but the imagination riots at the choice of rendezvous. A sensuous woman would have chosen a restaurant, an extravagant one a milliner's. Only a sweet one could have thought of a pastrycook's." "I wish your Excellency joy." "Thank you, Rudolf; my small change is reposing on the edge of the mantelpiece; kindly select a five-krone piece and drink to my good fortune." At eleven o'clock Trafford was waiting outside a big corner shop, whose ample windows revealed an alluring wealth of edible magnificence. Hardly had the church clock finished striking when a young woman drew near. The combination of blue veil and Russian sables was one Trafford had seen before, and being in uniform he saluted. "Come inside," said Gloria. Trafford followed obediently. "It's so like you to meet me in a place of this kind," he said. "We must meet somewhere," she returned, and there was a half-mischievous glint in the eyes that looked back into his eyes as she added:--"after what happened yesterday. It's no good meeting at the Neptunburg--a palace has all the luxuries of an ideal home, except privacy. This is one of the places where I was known in my days of exile, and they will serve us chocolate and éclairs in a private room." "Do you know I dreamed of you last night," began Trafford, as soon as they were alone in a cosy little room at the back. "Naturally," she laughed. "And in my dream you were very kind." "Again, naturally." "I mean," said Trafford tentatively, "you loved me 'more than the others.'" "You are most diverting," she said, smiling. Trafford winced. "You are not taking me very seriously?" he asked. "How can I take anything very seriously? If I did, I should go mad. I am a Queen, and Queens must marry. Custom compels. As an exile I had no difficulty in maintaining my spinsterhood. Now, it is different. If I do not marry you--marry you, mind, not merely go through a marriage form with you--I shall be wedded to some young German or Austrian Princeling, whose standard of manhood is measured by the number of beer _seidles_ he can empty in an evening." "I am flattered. And now for a few practical considerations. Supposing you marry me--and like you, I am using the word in its fullest sense--what will be the result? What will the public say?"