"Princess," the Englishman was saying coldly, "popularity is champagne with a dash of brandy in it. It is a splendid pick-me-up. It dispels ennui, migraine, and all the other troubles of a highly-strung, nervous system. Only, it is not what medical folk call a 'food.' It does not do for breakfast, luncheon and dinner. After a time it sickens." "Popularity--the adulation of my people would never pall on me," returned the Princess, gazing off for the moment, absorbed in a realm of dreams. "No, but the police might take a hand," intimated Saunders grimly. "There is a castle at Weidenbruck called the Strafeburg. As its name implies, it is intended otherwise than as a pleasure residence. It is a picturesque old pile, but, curiously enough, the architect seems to have neglected the important requirements of light and air. You would get very tired of the Strafeburg, my Princess!" "The people of Paris got very tired of the Bastille," retorted the Princess hotly and flashing a defiant look at the Englishman. Trafford's hand clinched in sympathy for her. Never was maid so splendidly daring and reckless and fascinating! "They got very tired of Louis XVI.," the voice was still going on, "and the people of Weidenbruck are very tired of the Strafeburg." To Trafford's astonishment the Princess's eyes showed danger of filling upon uttering these last words. Her perfect mouth quivered, and of a sudden, she seemed to him younger--certainly not more than nineteen. Again he was tempted to interfere in her behalf, but again Saunders was before him. "They got tired of a good many people in Paris," the Englishman said slowly. "Ultimately, even of Mére Guillotine. But supposing this country rose, pulled down the Strafeburg and other interesting relics, and decapitated my excellent friend, the King; supposing after much cutting of throats, burning of buildings, and shootings against the wall, a certain young lady became Gloria the First of Grimland, do you imagine she would be happy? No--in twelve months she would be bored to death with court etiquette, with conflicting advice, and the servile flattery of interested intriguers. Believe me, she is far happier enchanting the audiences of Belgium and Germany than she would be in velvet and ermine and a gold crown that fell off every time she indulged in one of her irresponsible fits of merriment." "I might forget to laugh," said the Princess sadly. "But no, I cannot, will not, take your advice! Do you not suppose that nature intended me to fill a loftier position than even the high firmament of the _Café Chantant_? No, a thousand times no, Herr Saunders--I am a Schattenberg and I mean to fight!" The American could not restrain himself an instant longer. "Bravo!" burst out Trafford enthusiastically. "There's a ring in that statement that warms my heart tremendously!"