The glow of delight that irradiated Sister Chriemhild’s face astonished Mansfield, for in view of her grey hair and faded blue eyes he had not expected to find the deaconess’s heart still young and sympathetic. She took him into a small parlour, and hurried away. Presently a stout middle-aged lady in black burst into the room; no other word will express the excitement which characterised her entrance. Bitter disappointment overspread her face at the sight of Mansfield, and she returned his bow with a frigid curtsey. “Have I the honour of speaking to her Majesty’s lady-in-waiting?” began Mansfield, perplexed by the change in her manner. “I am Sophie von Staubach, her Majesty’s lectrice. I am on duty to-day. You must have heard my name from Count Mortimer. Excuse my hurry. I could not wait to hear what Sister Chriemhild said. I took it into my head that the Count was here himself. He always looks so young, you know,” returned the lady, all in a breath. Her resentment seemed to have evaporated. “I am here on Count Mortimer’s behalf,” said Mansfield. “He is at Damascus, making arrangements with the Roumi authorities for the benefit of the Jews, and----” Fräulein von Staubach uttered a little scream. “Sit down,” she said, pointing to a chair, “and let us talk comfortably. Then Count Mortimer is the Prince of the Jews, after all? Now tell me----” She poured forth her questions. Where was Cyril staying, what was the exact nature of his present occupation, how long had Mansfield known him, what had he been doing since he left Thracia, did he look any older, did he often mention the Queen, what was his object in seeking her out?--and so on, without a pause. Mansfield answered her inquiries as fully as she would let him, describing Cyril’s condition with all the pathos he could command, and felt that success was in his grasp when Fräulein von Staubach, who had been making occasional dabs at her eyes with her handkerchief, suddenly broke down and wept noisily. “Of course he treated the dear Queen abominably, but I have always longed that he should come back and make it up with her,” she sobbed. “Then will you tell me how I can see her Majesty, Fräulein?” Mansfield felt it advisable not to protest against the lady’s opinion of Cyril’s behaviour, but his self-suppression failed of its effect. Fräulein von Staubach started violently, sat up and wiped her eyes, and looked at him severely. “It is quite evident that you are not accustomed to courts, sir,” she said. “Her Majesty has not commanded you to wait upon her, I believe?” “How could she, when she didn’t know of my existence?” asked Mansfield, with not unreasonable impatience. “But if you will be kind enough to tell her why I am here, no doubt she will allow me to wait upon her.” “It is impossible--quite impossible,” said the lady, nervously. “Because her Majesty only receives ladies? But I am merely a messenger--Count Mortimer’s messenger.”