In her heart she loved this unknown hardworking young Englishman, while he was held captive beneath her beauty, spell-bound by the music of her voice, thrilled by the touch of the soft hand which he kissed each day at greeting her, and each evening when they parted. Yes, people talked. Cross knew they did. Men had told him so. Max and the Parson had heard all sorts of wild gossip, and had sent him a letter telling him that he was an idiot. They wanted to handle the American woman's diamonds. They were not in Florence for sentimental reasons. The report had even reached his old aunt's ears, and she had administered to him a very severe reprimand, to which he had listened without a single word of protest, except that he denied, and denied most emphatically, that he was the Princess's lover. He was her friend, that was all. True, she was lonely and alone there in gay Florence, the City of Flowers. Sarajevo, her own capital she hated, she had often said. "It is pleasant, my dear Jack, to be in dear old Firenze," she had declared only the previous evening as they had walked and talked together in the white moonlight. "But doubly pleasant to be near such a good, true friend as you are to me." "I do but what is my duty, Princess," he replied in a low voice. "You have few friends here. But I am, I hope, one who is loyal and true." Those words of his crossed her mind as they strolled away from the music and the guests that warm May afternoon, strolled on beneath the blossoms, and amid the great profusion of flowers. She glanced again at his serious thoughtful face, and sighed within herself. What were titles, imperial birth, power, and the servility of the people, to love? Why was she not born a commoner, and allowed to taste the sweets of life, that even the most obscure little waiting-maid or seamstress were allowed. Every woman of the people could seek Love and obtain it. But to her, she reflected bitterly, it was denied--because she was not of common clay, but an Emperor's daughter, and destined to become a reigning queen! Together they walked along the cool cypress avenue; he tall, clean-limbed in his suit of white linen and panama. But they strolled on in silence, beyond the gaze of their enemies. "You seem to fear what these wretched gossips may say concerning us, Jack," she said at last, raising her eyes to his. "Why should you?" "I fear for your sake, Princess," he answered. "You have all to lose-- honour, name, husband--everything. For me--what does it matter? I have no reputation. I ceased to have that two years ago when I left England--bankrupt." "Poor Jack!" she sighed, in her quaint, childlike way. "I do wish you were wealthy, for you'd be so much happier, I suppose. It must be hard to be poor," she added--she who knew nothing of the value of money, and scarcely ever spent any herself, her debts and alms being paid by palace secretaries.