On the third day, while walking along the terrace facing the lake, I came across the Spaniard, who, in affable mood, started a conversation, and as we leaned upon the stone balustrade, smoking and gossiping, the pretty girl with hair so fair even though she were a Southerner came up, and I was introduced. She wore a cool white linen gown, a big sun-hat, and carried a pale blue sunshade. But my eye, expert where a woman's gown is concerned, told me that that linen frock was the creation of one of the Paris men-dressmakers, whose lowest charge for such a garment is one thousand francs. Aranda and his pretty niece were certainly persons of considerable means. "How very beautiful the lake always appears at any hour!" the girl exclaimed in French after her uncle had exchanged cards with me. "Truly Italy is delightful." "Ah, Mademoiselle," I replied. "But your brilliant Spain is ever attractive." "You know Spain?" inquired the bald-headed man at once. "Yes, I know Spain, but only as a spring visitor," was my reply. And from that conversation there grew in a few days quite an affable friendship. We went together on excursions, all three of us, once by the steamer up to Riva, where on landing and passing through the Customs we sat at the café and sipped that delicious coffee topped by a foam of cream, the same as one got at the "Bristol" in Vienna, or the "Hungaria" in Budapest. Then at evening, while the pretty Lola gossiped with a weedy old Italian Marchioness, whose acquaintance she had made, her uncle played billiards with me, and he was no bad player either! As soon as the Spaniard learnt of my position as personal-adjutant of His Imperial Highness the Crown-Prince he became immediately interested, as most people were, and plied me with all sorts of questions regarding the truth of certain scandals that were at the moment afloat concerning "Willie." As you know, I am usually pretty discreet. Therefore, I do not think that he learned very much from me. We were alone in the billiard-room, having a game after luncheon one day, when a curious conversation took place. "Ah, Count! You must have a very intimate knowledge of life at the Berlin Court," he remarked quite suddenly, in French. "Yes. But it is a strenuous life, I assure you," I declared, laughing. "The Crown-Prince sometimes goes abroad incognito," he said, pausing and looking me straight in the face. "Yes--sometimes," I admitted. "He was in Rome in the first week of last December. He disappeared from Potsdam, and the Emperor and yourself were extremely anxious as to what had become of him. He had gone to Berlin alone, without any attendant, and completely disappeared. Yet, while you were all making secret inquiries, and fearing lest the truth should leak out to the Press, His Imperial Highness was living as plain Herr Wilhelm Nebelthau in an apartment at Number Seventeen, Lungtevere Mellini. Isn't that so?" I stared agape at the Spaniard.