“What strange words you use. One judges people by their faces, not by their get-ups--is that the word?” “There isn’t very much of my face visible to judge by.” “Ah, one can judge a good deal by the general outline,” said the girl confidently. “Oh, is your uncle the poor sick Englishman I met in the gardens this morning?” “No; that’s a friend of mine.” “I was so sorry for him, because I have been ill so much myself. When I was a little girl I almost died every winter.” “But you look all right now.” “I am quite well, thank you, but mamma lived up in the mountains with me for two whole years, that I might become strong. I was her baby, you see.” Usk smiled involuntarily, the remark sounded so naïve. “Franz, my next brother, was ten years old when I was born, and all the rest are much older. I am even younger than two of my nephews, the Princes of Schreckingen.” “Surely you must be the Princess of Schwarzwald-Molzau?” asked Usk diffidently. “The little Princess they call me, or Princess Lenchen. At least they used to do that, but now papa says I am always to be called the Princess Helene. I am grown-up, you see, but I don’t feel as if I were. When I was confirmed I thought there would surely be a difference, that I should feel grown-up, but I don’t, and it displeases papa. He used to laugh at the things I said, and say, ‘How does the child get such things into her head?’ but now he is angry, and says, ‘Will that child never grow up?’” She spoke so dolorously that Usk laughed. “You’ll be grown-up quite soon enough,” he said. “I don’t know what to call you--your Grand-Ducal Highness?” “I do not know yet who you are,” she replied, with a quaint little air of dignity. “Probably you’ll know my uncle’s name better than mine--Count Mortimer.” “Oh, then we are cousins!” she exclaimed in delight. “At least we have the same aunt. She was married first to my uncle, you know.” “And now she is married to mine. Does that make her more my aunt or yours?” “Ah, but she is my mother’s cousin as well.” “That gives you the advantage, certainly.” “But does it make Count Mortimer my uncle? I am so anxious to know that, and I am afraid to ask papa. He--he doesn’t----” “Care for the connection? None of you do, I suppose. But I think you’ll like it better when you know my uncle.” “Like it? I wish him to be my uncle!” she cried. “You do not know; but since he came to Molzau for my sister Theudelinde’s wedding, four years ago, and I heard all about him, I have--oh, I do not know the English word--_geschwärmt_ for him. What is it that you do to a great poet, or painter, or any great man?” “Admire him?” suggested Usk. “Oh no, no! You admire a horse. Have you no sisters? Did they not set up some hero’s photograph and place flowers in front of it, and watch for any mention of his name, and long to obtain his autograph?”