"Aunt Kathryn, you must not believe his falsehoods," cried Maida. "If you do--if you let yourself care for him--he will spoil your life." The Countess petulantly stopped her ears. "I won't listen to you," was her answer. "I knew there had been trickery of some sort, and you may as well save your breath, for whatever you say I will believe nothing against the man I love." With that she took her fingers from her ears, and held out both hands to Dalmar-Kalm. He ran to take them, and pressed his lips ardently first upon one, then the other plump cushion of dimpled satin. Disgusted with this exhibition of a woman's folly, while I pitied it, I could look no more, but turned to Maida. "Will you let me take you away?" was all that my lips said, but my eyes said more, in memory of that first moment of our meeting, which was, please God, to influence our whole future--hers and mine. "Yes," she answered. "But--I can't leave here without Aunt Kathryn." "You must go with Miss Destrey, Countess," I insisted. "Whatever you may decide later in regard to Prince Dalmar-Kalm, in any case you must go with your niece and me to stop at an hotel in Cettinje, for the night." The man would not let go her hand. "Promise me you will not leave Montenegro till you are my wife," he begged. "If you do, I feel I shall lose you for ever." "I'll do my best," faltered the lady, as a lady should, I suppose, who feels herself a heroine of romance. I could almost have respected that scoundrel for his diplomacy. His motto was, "Get what you want, or if you can't, take what you can;" and he was living up to it, playing up to it before an audience as no other man I ever saw could or would. He didn't seem to care what we thought of him, now that he was gaining his point. But when fatty degeneration of the soul sets in, there is room for little real pride in a man's breast. "You will not allow yourself to be prejudiced against me?" he went on. "Never," vowed the Countess. "No one had better try it." "I will not try after to-night, if what I have to tell doesn't change your mind," said Maida. "But, just this once--" "No--no!" "Very well then, I will say nothing except--" "Be careful!" "Oh," and the girl turned imploringly to me, "take us somewhere, so that I can talk to her alone." "There's said to be a good enough hotel in Cettinje. I'll take you both there," I ventured. "Come and see me early--early, Prince," said the Countess. "Yes. But I am not 'Prince' to you now. I am 'Otto.'" "Otto, then." So I got them away, leaving the man behind, to his own devices, and at the door I had the joy of wrapping Maida in my big coat. How glad I was that I had brought it! I drove them to a hotel in the _place_ at the end of the long main street, and when the Countess had hurried ostentatiously off to her room, that no nefarious attempts might be made upon her resolution. She and I stood for a moment hand in hand, in the dim hall. "You are mine?" I asked.