A friend there! I reflected. I, knowing his partiality to the eternal petticoat, could only suppose that the attraction in Nice was of the feminine gender. "Then the lady is in Nice!" I remarked, for sometimes I was permitted, on account of my long service with the Emperor, to speak familiarly. "Lady, no!" he retorted. "It is a man. And I want to get to Nice at the earliest moment. So get through those infernal documents. Burn them all. They are better out of the way," he laughed. And, taking a cigarette from the golden box--a present to him from "Tino" of Greece--he lit it, and wishing me good night, strode out. Just before eleven o'clock on the following night we left the Marmor Palace. His Imperial Highness travelled incognito as he always did when visiting France, assuming the name of Count von Grünau. With us was his personal valet, Schuler, the military secretary, Major Lentze, and Eckardt, the Commissioner of Secret Police for His Highness's personal protection, who travelled with us wherever we went. In addition, there was an under-valet, and Knof, the Crown-Prince's favourite chauffeur. When abroad cars were either bought and afterwards re-sold, or else hired, but Knof, who was a celebrated racing motorist and had driven in Prince Henry's tour of exploration through England, and who had gained many prizes on the various circuits, was always taken as "driver." After a restless night--for there were many stoppages--I spent next day with the Crown-Prince in long and tiring discussions on military affairs as we travelled due south in the beautifully-fitted Imperial car, replete with its smoking saloon with wicker chairs, its four bathrooms, and other luxuries. I endeavoured to obtain from him some reason why we were proceeding to Nice, but to all my inquiries he was smilingly dumb. He noticed my eagerness, and I saw that he was amused by it. Yet somehow, as we travelled towards the Italian frontier--for our road lay through Austria down to Milan, and thence by way of Genoa--he seemed to become unduly thoughtful and anxious. Only a fortnight before he had had one of those ever-recurring and unseemly quarrels with his long-suffering wife. "Cilli is a fool!" he had declared openly to me, after she had left the room in anger. We had been busy arranging a programme of official visits in Eastern Germany, when suddenly the Crown-Princess entered, pale with anger, and disregarding my presence--for I suppose I was regarded as one who knew all the happenings of the palace, and whose discretion could be relied upon--began to demand fiercely an explanation of a certain anonymous letter which she held in her hand. "Kindly read that!" she said haughtily, "and explain what it means!" The Crown-Prince grinned idiotically, that cold, sinister expression overspreading his countenance, a look which is such a marked characteristic of his.