"Thanks," she murmured, "but I shall keep outside as long as I can. As a foreigner you should visit it--as a sight-seer. It is a most depressing place, but there is a very valuable collection of armour and a collection of instruments of torture without its equal in Europe." "Is it still used as a prison?" asked Trafford. "They _say_ not." There was a meaning behind her qualified denial and Trafford demanded it. "Between official statements and actual facts there is apt to be a serious discrepancy in this unfortunate land," she replied. "Officially, no one resides in the Strafeburg but the caretaker and his daughter. As a matter of fact, I am told that several political prisoners are still rotting in its dungeons." Trafford shuddered. He was a very humane man,--despite his explosive temperament. His companion noted keenly the effect of her words, and went on: "Officially, also, the instruments of torture went out of use one hundred and fifty years ago." "You mean----" "I mean," she continued, "that our dear humane monarch does not stick at trifles when his interests are threatened." Trafford opened his eyes wide, and regarded his companion with amazement. In his curious, excitable brain was a largely developed loathing of cruelty. Hard knocks he was prepared to give or receive in the world's battle, big risks to life and limb he was prepared to incur or inflict with heedless impartiality, but deliberate cruelty, the malicious and intentional infliction of pain on man or brute, always roused him to a frenzy of wrath. The Princess read his look and silence. "The Archbishop of Weidenbruck, a political opponent of King Karl's, is said to have met a peculiarly terrible end," she said meaningly. "Impossible!" muttered Trafford. "Impossible things happen in Grimland. It is impossible, of course, that you should side against your friend, Herr Saunders, and your prospective friend, King Karl----" and she touched his hand with an unconscious impulsive movement,--"and help me in my legitimate ambitions." Her words were in the nature of a suggestion, almost a question. Trafford answered them between his teeth. "That is the sort of impossibility that comes off," he muttered. "You mean it?" demanded his fair companion, and her eyes were pleading as they had pleaded with Captain von Hügelweiler in the Thiergarten. Trafford drank deep of their glance, and it intoxicated him. "When I see these picturesque buildings," he returned, "with their garlands of snow and cornices of icicles, I feel I am in fairyland. And in fairyland, you know, the poor beast is changed into a handsome young man and marries the beautiful Princess." He was not insensible of his boldness, and carried it off with a laugh. "I feel the transmogrifying effects of this fairy kingdom already." "And you are beginning to feel a handsome young man?" asked the Princess gaily.