"And can we take it--can we hold it?" she went on in tones of eager inquiry. Bernhardt stretched out his hand towards Trafford. "There is the answer to your question," he said. "You will capture the Marienkastel for me?" she asked, turning to her silent lover. Trafford looked at the girl before him long and searchingly before answering. "The Marienkastel is the key to Weissheim," he said at length; "it is also, it appears, the key to your heart. I thought there was a nearer way,--a better way. Yes," he went on, "I will capture the Marienkastel, or do all that a man can do to capture it, and then I will claim my reward." "You shall have it," said Bernhardt; "I swear it." "And I promise..." breathed Gloria. Trafford nodded to himself. "I am content," he said. CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE THE OPENING BARS Mr. and Mrs. Saunders were having breakfast together in the pretty stone villa they had built for themselves at Weissheim, overlooking the Nonnensee. The view of the mountains beyond the lake, the exquisite expanse of snow, growing into sparkling life under the touch of the rising sun, furnished a prospect of sufficiently absorbing grandeur. But Saunders' eyes wandered only from an _omelette aux fines herbes_ to a belated copy of the _Morning Post_. English newspapers had been scarce since the cutting of the railway, and the present specimen had reached its destination by a roundabout way through Vienna, and had cost exactly tenpence. "What is the Government doing?" asked Mrs. Saunders, who took an interest in home politics. "I don't know. When I am in this delightfully disorganised country the mild animosities of English party strife fill me with contempt. I was reading the 'Births, deaths, and marriages' just to prove to myself that there are natural tragedies and romances, even in the decently regulated areas of Bayswater and Mayfair." "Is anyone we know mentioned?" "By Jove!" ejaculated Saunders after a pause. "Well?" "By Jove!" "Please go on, Robert," said Mrs. Saunders with pardonable impatience. "Angela Knox, that American girl, is----" "Well?" "Is going to marry a grouse moor." "Pray be explicit." "Glengourlie--a little man in the Scots Guards. Eldest son of the Marquis of Stratheerie; ten thousand a year and the best half of Inverness-shire." Mrs. Saunders received this startling information with composure. "She'll make a handsome peeress," was her comment. "What about George Trafford?" asked her husband. "Grimland is a country of short memories and swift changes," said Mrs. Saunders. "It converted you from a _blasé_ bachelor to a happy husband; and it has converted George Trafford from a broken-hearted desperado to a lover of an usurping queen." "Do you believe Von Hügelweiler's tale?" asked Saunders in surprise.