The Princess drew in a long breath, half-astonishment, half-admiration. "That is one of the impossibilities that does not come off--even in Grimland," she told him at last. "Listen," Trafford went on impetuously, "I shall only ask for my reward in the event of your being crowned in the Cathedral of Weidenbruck, and in the event of your acknowledging of your own free will that I have been mainly instrumental in winning you your sovereignty." The Princess bit her lips and nodded silently, as if weighing his words. Something, however, impelled her to make the obvious objection. "In the event of my being crowned Queen of Grimland," she reminded him, "I shall not be permitted to marry whom I will. If I married you without the consent of my counsellors and Parliament the marriage would be, _ipso facto_, null and void." "All I ask is your promise to go through the ceremony with the necessary legal and religious forms." The Princess remained a moment in silent thought. Then she broke out into her merriest laugh. "We are building castles in the air," she hastened to say. "Yes, I promise--on those conditions. But you perceive the badness of the bargain you are making? A marriage that will be no marriage--a contract that will not be worth the paper it is written on?" "I will chance its validity." "In that event and on those conditions you shall have my hand." The Princess stretched forth her right hand. Trafford took it and pressed his lips to it. "And heart?" he demanded. As in the Thiergarten with Von Hügelweiler, the Princess Gloria hesitated momentarily, but long enough for the framing of a lie. But this time something strangled the conceived falsehood before it passed her lips. "Alas!" she faltered. "Nature forgot to give me a heart." The words were seriously enough spoken, but somehow they did not ring true to him. "You are incapable of love?" he asked. The Princess flushed deeply as slowly she scanned the man who faced her. It was patent that a battle was raging in her heaving bosom. For a full half-minute silence reigned, a silence broken only by faint murmurs and the clink of beer glasses from the outer room. And all the time Trafford's face preserved an expressionless immobility, his eyes a gleam of stern directness. The Princess heaved a deep sigh. The battle was over; something was lost, something was won.