"That may be; but it's official, and you ought not to receive your 'officials' with 'pooh,' but perhaps it's your way here. Here is Excellenz von R---- in tears--she has brought the news from Vienna." "Old wives' tales! I don't believe it." Excellenz nevertheless persuaded him. "Donnerwetter! Jesus Maria! And she tried to save him! Plucky woman--always was plucky. Skinflint though--a skinflint. Too fond of the Jesuits! This plot was arranged in Serbia, I'll stake my life--stake my life. Ach, those Serbs! The scum of creation--scum of creation! We must exterminate them one day. They have always been a trouble, but this will bring about their end at last. Ach, the poor Archduke and the poor Duchess! Ach! Pooh!" "Personally," said the Prince, "I think you needn't be so angry with the Serbs. They've done us a good turn really. The Archduke--it's useless to pretend otherwise, General--was the best hated man in Austria, and the Duchess the best-hated woman. Both cared only for the Church. They won't really be regretted. The young Karl Franz Josef may be the saving of Austria at a critical moment." III--GLIMPSES OF THE LIFE OF A PRINCESS Excellenz von R---- during her stay in K---- remained sad over the murder of her friend, and no one spoke of anything but the political complications which might ensue. The plot, it seemed, had been known to the military and civil authorities in Sarajevo, and several arrests made even before the tragedy. The Archduke was very uneasy, and asked the Governor, General Potiorek, if it was safe to venture out to the reception in the town hall. "Absolutely safe," General Potiorek was unwise enough to reply, "I can stake my own life on your Highnesses' safety." After Excellenz von R---- returned to Vienna the Bores arrived _en masse_ to spend the whole month of July in K----. They were the Princess's young brother Count R----, his wife, and children, Elizabeth and Stefan. It is not without reason that they are known as the Bores. The Count was the most bearable of them--but even he was trying to one's nerves in hot weather. He was gay and irresponsible--had squandered his own fortune, and as much of his wife's as she would allow him, at baccarat. His particular sin was his unfortunate habit of writing verse to each and all of us and singing it, to his own melodies, on every embarrassing occasion. His verse was clever--and usually true, consequently it annoyed. The countess was a politician, devoting her attentions to the General, who spent his days in trying to avoid her. "Jesus Maria!" he would say when, red and panting, he had made good his escape. "In all my years in Bosnia and Galicia I never had anything like this--pooh!"