“I care nothing for all that. He may be all you say, and twice as humble, but he is my brother Frank still,--the playfellow with whom I passed the day when--when I was happy--as I shall never be again!--the fond, kind brother, whom we were all so proud of.” An expression of scornful compassion on Madame de Heidendorf 's features at once stopped Kate, and she covered her face with her hands to hide her shame. “Madame la Princesse,” began the Countess,--for whenever she peculiarly desired to impress Kate with her duties, she always prefaced the lesson by her new title,----“the past must be forgotten, or you will find yourself totally unable to compete with the difficulties of your station. There is but one way to make the Prince's _mésalliance_ pardonable, which is by as seldom as possible parading its details. If, then, you insist upon seeing your brother during our stay at Vienna, it must be in secret you said something, I think, of an old field-marshal,--a connection?” “My father's uncle, Madame.” “Very true. Well, your brother can come with some letter or message from him; or if Nina, your maid, has no objection, he might pass for a lover of hers.” “Madame!” cried Kate, indignantly. “I said, if Nina made no objection,” said Madame de Heidendorf, as though answering the indignant exclamation. “But these are matters of _my_ consideration, Madame,--at least, if I understand the spirit of the Prince's instructions.” Some such scene as this, usually closing with a similar peroration, formed the conversation of the road; and hour by hour Kate's courage fell lower, as she contemplated all that her elevation had cost her. And what a mockery was it, after all! It was true that she journeyed in a carriage with all the emblazonry of royalty; that a group of uncovered lackeys attended her as she descended; that she was ever addressed by a proud title; a respectful, submissive devotion surrounding her at every instant But, amid all this, there was not one look, one word of kindness; nothing of interest or sympathy with her solitary grandeur. It mattered little that the bars of her cell were of gold; it was a prison still.