“I am sure you are making some mistake about the lady,” said Mansfield, in much perplexity; but he approached the door of Cyril’s study, reaching it just as the owner opened it to escort Countess Birnsdorf to the gate. The old lady’s cry of surprise on catching sight of him made Colonel Czartoriski forget his promise and turn round, and both looked unutterably guilty. “I suppose,” said Cyril, “that I ought to feel flattered at your both regarding me as such a Lothario; but I assure you the honour is quite undeserved.” “It was the words the Princess used,” explained Countess Birnsdorf, apologetically. “A mother’s instinct----” “I am afraid her Royal Highness’s instincts are not to be trusted where I am concerned. This is not the first rumour she has set afloat about me, you will remember.” “Do you intend to impute malice to her Highness, Count?” demanded Colonel Czartoriski hotly. “By no means, Colonel. I merely state a fact.” “Of course,” said Countess Birnsdorf, unaware of the admission she was making. “How can you try to pick a quarrel with the Count, Colonel, when he may have given us a clue to our poor Princess’s flight? If you will make inquiries about Captain Roburoff’s destination when he left this place three days ago, while I go home to try and calm her Highness’s mind, it may help us a little.” “Oh, if Captain Roburoff has acted as Count Mortimer’s deputy----” “The Count once saw him talking to Princess Lida, that’s all. But if you go on wasting time like this, how are we to save her? Come, come,” and Countess Birnsdorf hurried the old soldier out of the house, and saw him start in the direction of the station. But her haste was in vain. A telegram which arrived that evening from Princess Lida informed her mother that she was married to Captain Roburoff, and that the ceremony had been performed by an Orthodox priest in the chapel attached to the Thracian Legation at Vindobona. This astonishing fact made it clear that some personage high in authority had been acting in collusion with the fugitives, and before long every one at Ludwigsbad knew that the Princess of Dardania had solemnly declared she would never forgive Count Mortimer for his part in the affair. Cyril smiled when the news reached him. “Excellent!” he said. “She has now a legitimate reason for hating me, whereas before she could not very well avow the cause of her enmity.” The person who had told him of the rumour, and to whom he spoke, was the Chevalier Goldberg, just returned in triumph from Czarigrad with the long-coveted concession in his hands. The possession of Palestine was once more secured to the Hebrew race. “But wid whom is she seekink to inchure you?” asked the financier in reply. “Europe knows now de truth about her defeat in de affair celebrated by Texelius, and will not beliefe her. Dere must be some one outside de ranche off politics det she wishes to influence.” “It is just possible,” said Cyril drily. The Chevalier took heart of grace.