Trafford accepted the left-handed compliment in silence, lighting a cigarette while General Meyer totted up the amount of marks he had awarded to the several competitors. After a few minutes' calculation,--and after his figures had been checked by a secretary,--the General skated back to the front of the royal box and announced his decision to the King. Then, at a word from his Majesty, a gentleman in a blue and yellow uniform placed a gigantic megaphone to his lips, and turning it to the various sections of the crowd, announced:-- "The King's Prize: the winner is Herr George Trafford; second, Captain Ulrich Salvator von Hügelweiler." The American received the announcement with complete outward calmness. And yet those hoarsely spoken words had touched a chord in his heart that he had believed snapped and irrevocably broken. For a moment he lived, for a moment the cheers of his fellow men had galvanised into healthy activity the dead brain that had lost interest in all things under the sun. The success itself was a trivial affair, yet in a magic moment he had become reconciled to life and its burden, vaguely thankful that he had kept the first barrel of his revolver free from powder and ball. "Congratulations, Herr Trafford," said General Meyer, who now approached him with proffered hand. "Escort me, I beg, to his Majesty, who will present you with the cup. You will also receive a royal command to dine to-morrow night at the Palace." "Congratulations, Herr Trafford," said another voice. Trafford looked round and beheld the competitor who had been placed second. The tone of the felicitation was one of undisguised bitterness, the face of the speaker was the ashen face of a cruelly disappointed man. And Von Hügelweiler, honestly believing himself cheated of his due,--and not bearing to see another receive the prize which he felt should have been his,--slunk from the scene with hate and misery and all uncharitableness in his tortured soul. Then, as he took off his skates, the cheering broke out again, and told that the American was receiving the trophy from the King's hand. An ejaculation of bitterness and wrath burst from his lips. Hardly had he breathed his angry word into the frosty air when a small hand plucked at his fur-lined coat, and looking round he perceived a charming little face gazing into his own. "Why so cross, Captain?'" asked the interrupter of his execration. Captain von Hügelweiler's hand went up to the salute. "Your Royal High----" "Hush! you tactless man," said the Princess Gloria, for it was no other. "Do you want to have me arrested? For the sake of old times," she went on, putting her arm in his, "I claim your protection."