Chapter: "Count, must I tell you again not to broach that subject? There can be
no alliance between Ehrenstein and Jugendheit."

"Why?" asked Count von Herbeck, chancellor, coolly returning the angry
flash from the ducal eyes.

"There are a thousand reasons why, but it is not my purpose to name
them."

"Name only one, your Highness, only one."

"Will that satisfy you?"

"Perhaps."

"One of my reasons is that I do not want any alliance with a country so
perfidious as Jugendheit. What! I make overtures? I, who have been so
cruelly wronged all these years? You are mad."

"But what positive evidence have you that Jugendheit wronged you?"

"Positive? Have I eyes and ears? Have I not seen and read and heard?"
This time the duke struck the desk savagely. "Why do you always rouse me
in this fashion, Herbeck? You know how distasteful all this is to me."

"Your highness knows that I look only to the welfare of the country. In
the old days it was a foregone conclusion that this alliance was to be
formed. Now, you persist in averring that the late king was the chief
conspirator in abducting her serene highness, aided by Arnsberg, whose
successor I have the honor to be. I have never yet seen any proofs. You
have never yet produced them. Show me something which absolutely
convicts them, and I'll surrender."

"On your honor?"

"My word."

The grand duke struck the bell on the chancellor's desk.

"My secretary, and tell him to bring me the packet marked A. He will
understand."

The two men waited without speaking, each busy with thought. The duke
had been in his youth, and was still, a handsome man, splendidly set
up, healthy and vigorous, keen mentally, and whatever stubbornness he
possessed nicely balanced by common sense. He might have been guilty in
his youth of a few human peccadillos, but the kingly and princely
excesses which at that time were making the east side of the Rhine the
scandal of the world had in no wise sullied his name. Ehrenstein means
"stone of honor," and he had always carried the thought of this in his
heart. He was frank in his likes and dislikes, he hated secrets, and he
loved an opponent who engaged him in the open. Herbeck often labored
with him over this open manner, but the mind he sought to work upon was
as receptive to political hypocrisy as a wall of granite. It was this
extraordinary rectitude which made the duke so powerful an aid to
Bismarck in the days that followed. The Man of Iron needed this sort of
character as a cover and a buckler to his own duplicities.

Herbeck was an excellent foil. He was as silent and secretive as sand.
He moved, as it were, in circles, thus always eluding dangerous corners.
He was tall, angular, with a thin, immobile countenance, well guarded
by his gray eyes and straight lips. He was a born financier, with almost
limitless ambition, though only he himself knew how far this ambition
reached. He had not brought prosperity to Ehrenstein, but he had
fortified and bastioned it against extravagance, and this was probably
the larger feat of the two. He loved his country, and brooded over it as
a mother broods over her child. Twice had he saved Ehrenstein from the
drag-net of war, and with honor. So he was admired by fathers and
revered by mothers.

The secretary came in and laid a thin packet of papers on the
chancellor's desk. "It was the packet A, your Highness?"--his hand still
resting upon the documents.

"Yes. You may go."

The secretary bowed and withdrew.

The duke stirred the papers angrily, took one of them and spread it out
with a rasp.

"Look at that. Whose writing, I ask?"

Herbeck adjusted his glasses and scrutinized the slanting hieroglyphics.
He ran over it several times. At length he opened a drawer in his desk,
sorted some papers, and brought out a yellow letter. This he laid down
beside the other.

"Yes, they are alike. This will be Arnsberg. But"--mildly--"who may say
that it is not a cunning forgery?"

"Forgery!" roared the duke. "Read this one from the late king of
Jugendheit to Arnsberg, then, if you still doubt."

Herbeck read slowly and carefully.

Then he rose and walked to the nearest window, studying the letter again
in the sharper light. Presently his hands fell behind his back and met
about the paper, while he himself stared over into the royal gardens. He
remained in this attitude for some time.

"Well?" said the duke impatiently.

Herbeck returned to his chair. "I wish that you had shown me these long
ago."

"To what end?"

"You accused the king?"

"Certainly, but he denied it."

"In a letter?"

"Yes. Here, read it."

Herbeck compared the two. "Where did you find these?"

"In Arnsberg's desk," returned the duke, the anger in his eyes giving
place to gloomy retrospection. "Arnsberg, my boyhood playmate, the man I
loved and trusted and advanced to the highest office in my power. Is
that not the way? Do we ever trust any one fully without being in the
end deceived? Well, dead or alive," the duke continued, his throat
swelling, "ten thousand crowns to him who brings Arnsberg to me, dead or
alive."

"He will never come back," said Herbeck.

"Not if he is wise. He was clever. He sent all his fortune to Paris, so
I found, and what I confiscated was nothing but his estate. But do you
believe me"--putting a hand against his heart--"something here tells me
that some day fate will drag him back and give him into my hands?"

"You are very bitter."

"And have I not cause? Did not my wife die of a broken heart, and did I
not become a broken man? You do not know all, Herbeck, not quite all.
Franz also sought the hand of the Princess Sofia. He, too, loved her,
but I won. Well, his revenge must have been sweet to him."

"But your daughter has been restored to her own."

"Due to your indefatigable efforts alone. Ah, Herbeck, nothing will ever
fill up the gap between, nothing will ever restore the mother." The duke
bowed his head.

Herbeck studied him thoughtfully.

"I love my daughter and she loves me, but I don't know what it is, I
can't explain it," irresolutely.

"What can not your highness explain?"

"Perhaps the gap is too wide, perhaps the separation has been too long."

Herbeck did not press the duke to be more explicit. He opened another
drawer and took forth a long hood envelope, crested and sealed.

"Your Highness, here is a letter from the prince regent of Jugendheit,
formally asking the hand of the Princess Hildegarde for his nephew,
Frederick, who will shortly be crowned. My advice is to accept, to let
bygones be bygones."

"Write the prince that I respectfully decline."

"Do nothing in haste, your Highness. Temporize; say that you desire some
time to think about the matter. You can change your mind at any time. A
reply like this commits you to nothing, whereas your abrupt refusal will
only widen the breach."

"The wider the breach the better."

"No, no, your Highness; the past has disturbed you. We can stand war,
and it is possible that we might win, even against Jugendheit; but war
at this late day would be a colossal blunder. Victory would leave us
where we began thirty years ago. One does not go to war for a cause that
has been practically dead these sixteen years. And an insult to
Jugendheit might precipitate war. It would be far wiser to let me answer
the prince regent, saying that your highness will give the proposal your
thoughtful consideration."

"Have your way, then, but on your head be it if you commit me to
anything."

The duke was about to gather up his documentary evidence, when Herbeck
touched his hand.

"I have an idea," said the chancellor. "A great many letters reach me
from day to day. I have an excellent memory. Who knows but that I might
find the true conspirator, the archplotter? Leave them with me, your
Highness."

"I shall not ask you to be careful with them, Herbeck."

"I shall treasure them as my life."

The duke departed, stirred as he had not been since the restoration of
the princess. Herbeck sometimes irritated him, for he was never in the
wrong, he was never impatient, he was never hasty, he never had to go
over a thing twice. This supernal insight, which overlooked all things
but results, set the duke wondering if Herbeck was truly all human. If
only he could catch him at fault once in a while!

Count von Herbeck remained at his desk, his face as inscrutable as ever,
his eyes without expression, and his lips expressing nothing. He
smoothed out a sheet of paper, affixed the state seal, and in a flowing
hand wrote a diplomatic note, considering the proposal of his royal
highness, the prince regent of Jugendheit, on behalf of his nephew, the
king. This he placed in the diplomatic pouch, called for a courier, and
despatched him at once for the frontier.

The duke sought his daughter. She was in the music-room, surrounded by
several of her young women companions, each holding some musical
instrument in her hands. Hildegarde was singing. The duke paused,
shutting his eyes and striving to recall the voice of the mother. When
the voice died away and the young women leaned back in their chairs to
rest, the duke approached. Upon seeing him all rose. With a smile he
dismissed them.

"My child," he began, taking Hildegarde's hand and drawing her toward a
window-seat, "the king of Jugendheit asks for your hand."

"Mine, father?"

"Even so."

"Then I am to marry the king of Jugendheit?" There was little joy in her
voice.

"Ah, we have not gone so far as that. The king, through his uncle, has
simply made a proposal. How would you regard it, knowing what you do of
the past, the years that you lived in comparative penury, amid
hardships, unknown, and almost without name?"

"It is for you to decide, father. Whatever your decision is, I shall
abide by it."

"It is a hard lesson we have to learn, my child. We can not always
marry where we love; diplomacy and politics make other plans. But
fortunately for you you love no one yet." He put his hand under her chin
and searched the deeps of her gray eyes. These eyes were more like her
mother's than anything else about her. "The king is young, handsome,
they say, and rich. Politically speaking, it would be a great match."

"I am in your hands. You know what is best."

The duke was poignantly disappointed. Why did she not refuse outright,
indignantly, contemptuously, as became one of the House of Ehrenstein?
Anything rather than this complacency.

"What is he like?" disengaging his hand and turning her face toward the
window.

"That no one seems to know. He has been to his capital but twice in ten
years, which doubtless pleased his uncle, who loves power for its own
sake. The young king has been in Paris most of the time. That's the way
they educate kings these days. They teach them all the vices and make
virtue an accident. Your father loves you, and if you are inclined
toward his majesty, if it is in your heart to become a queen, I shall
not let my prejudices stand in the way."

She caught up his hand with a strange passion and kissed it.

"Father, I do not want to marry any one," wistfully. "But a queen!" she
added thoughtfully.

"It is only a sound, my dear; do not let it delude you. Herbeck advises
this alliance, and while I realize that his judgment is right, my whole
soul revolts against it. But all depends upon you."

"Would it benefit the people? Would it be for the good of the state?"

Here was reason. "Yes; my objections are merely personal," said the
duke.

"For the good of my country, which I love, I am ready to make any
sacrifice. I shall think it over."

"Very well; but weigh the matter carefully. There is never any retracing
a step of this kind." He stood up, his heart heavy. Saying no more, he
moved toward the door.

She gazed after him, and suddenly and silently she stretched out her
arms, her eyes and face and lips yearning with love. Curiously enough,
the duke happened to turn. He was at her side in a moment, holding her
firm in his embrace.

"You are all I have, girl!" with a bit of break in his voice.

"My father!" She stroked his cheek.

When he left the room it was with lighter step.

The restoration of the Princess Hildegarde of Ehrenstein had been the
sensation of Europe, as had been in the earlier days her remarkable
abduction. For sixteen years the search had gone on fruitlessly. The
cleverest adventuresses on the continent tried devious tricks to palm
themselves off as the lost princess. From France they had come, from
Prussia, Italy, Austria, Russia and England. But the duke and the
chancellor held the secret, unknown to any one else--a locket. In a
garret in Dresden the agents of Herbeck found her, a singer in the
chorus of the opera. The newspapers and illustrated weeklies raged about
her for a while, elaborated the story of her struggles, the mysterious
remittances which had, from time to time, saved her from direst poverty,
her ambition, her education which, by dint of hard work, she had
acquired. It was all very puzzling and interesting and romantic. For
what purpose had she been stolen, and by whom? The duke accused Franz of
Jugendheit, but he did so privately. Search as they would, the duke and
the chancellor never traced the source of the remittances. The duke held
stubbornly that the sender of these benefactions was moved by the
impulse of a guilty conscience, and that this guilty conscience was in
Jugendheit. But these remittances, argued Herbeck, came long after the
death of the old king. He had his agents, vowed the duke. Herbeck would
not listen to this. He preferred to believe that Count von Arnsberg was
the man.

There was an endless tangle of red tape before the girl became secure in
her rights. But finally, when William of Prussia and Franz Josef of
Austria congratulated the duke, everybody else fell into line, and every
troop in the duchy came to Dreiberg to the celebration. Then the world
ran away in pursuit of other adventures, and forgot all about her serene
highness.

And was she happy with all this grandeur, with all these lackeys and
attentions and environs? Who can say? Sometimes she longed for the
freedom and lack-care of her Dresden garret, her musician friends, the
studios, the crash and glitter of the opera. To be suddenly deprived of
the fruits of ambition, to reach such a pinnacle without striving, to be
no longer independent, somehow it was all tasteless with the going of
the novelty.

She looked like a princess, she moved and acted like one, but after the
manner of kindly fairy princesses in story-books. All fell in love with
her, from the groom who saddled her horse, to the chancellor, who up to
this time was known never to have loved anything but the state.

She was lovely enough to inspire fervor and homage and love in all
masculine minds. She was witty and talented. Carmichael said she was one
of the most beautiful women in Europe. Later he modified this statement
by declaring that she was the most beautiful woman in Europe or
elsewhere. Yet, often she went about as one in a waking dream. There was
an aloofness which was not born of hauteur but rather of a lingering
doubt of herself.

She was still in the window-seat when the chancellor was announced. She
distrusted him a little, she knew not why; yet, when he bent over her
hand she was certain that his whole heart was behind his salute.

"Your Highness," he said, "I am come to announce to you that there waits
for you a high place in the affairs of the world."

"The second crown in Jugendheit?"

"Your father--?"

"Yes. He leaves the matter wholly in my hands."

The sparkle in his eyes was the first evidence of emotion she had ever
seen in him. It rather pleased her.

"It is for the good of the state. A princess like yourself must never
wed an inferior."

"Would a man who was brave and kind and resourceful, but without a
title, would he be an inferior?"

"Assuredly, politically. And I regret to say that your marriage could
never be else than a matter of politics."

"I am, then, for all that I am a princess, simply a certificate of
exchange?"

His keen ear caught the bitter undercurrent. "The king of Jugendheit is
young. I do not see how he can help loving you the moment he knows you.
Who can?" And the chancellor enjoyed the luxury of a smile.

"But he may not be heart whole."

"He will be, politically."

"Politics, politics; how I hate the word! Sometimes I regret my garret."

The chancellor frowned. "Your Highness, I beg of you never to give that
thought utterance in the presence of your father."

"Ah, believe me, I am not ungrateful; but all this is new to me, even
yet. I am living in a dream, wondering and wondering when I shall wake."

The chancellor wrinkled his lips. It was more of a grimace than a smile.

"Will you consent to this marriage?"

"Would it do any good to reject it?"

"On the contrary, it would do Ehrenstein great harm."

"Give me a week," wearily.

"A week!" There was joy on the chancellor's face now, unmasked,
unconcealed. "Oh, when the moment comes that I see the crown of
Jugendheit on your beautiful head, all my work shall not have been in
vain. So then, within seven days I shall come for your answer?"

"One way or the other, my answer will be ready then."

"There is one thing more, your Highness."

"And that?"

"There must not be so many rides in the morning with his excellency,
Herr Carmichael."

She met his piercing glance with that mild duplicity known only to
women. "He is a gentleman, he amuses me, and there is no harm. Grooms
are always with us. And often he is only one of a party."

"It is politics again, your Highness; I merely offer the suggestion."

"Marry me to the king of Jugendheit, if you will, but in this I shall
have my way." But she laughed as she laid down this law.

He surrendered his doubt. "Well, for a week. But once the banns are
published, it will be neither wise nor--"

"Proper? That is a word, Count, that I do not like."

"Pardon me, your Highness. All this talk is merely for the sake of
saving you needless embarrassment."

He bowed and took his leave of her.

"Jugendheit! Ah, I had rather my garret, my garret!"

And her gaze sped across the Platz and lingered about one of the little
window-balconies of the Grand Hotel.

 As Ani prepares to leave her home country, she talks to Selia about what's happened. Selia is outraged, of course, but there isn't really anything Ani can do about it. Who knows? This might end up being a good thing--Ani can decide who she wants to be, and Selia will get to come with her too. One day Ani meets up with her bro Calib, who is a little nervous around her--she tells him not to worry, though. Sure, she was bummed at first to leave, but now she's used to the idea--in other words, no harm, no foul. As she's leaving, the queen makes a big speech about how precious her daughter Ani is, and how she wants everyone to protect her on the journey. She even gives Ani a special handkerchief passed down from her grandma, stained with her mom's blood; it will protect her out in the woods, on the journey to Bayern. At first Ani's touched, but then she's not sure if her mom is doing this all for show or not. No matter, though--they're off. Ani and her entourage make a beeline for the forest--it's a long journey to Bayern, but at least Selia seems excited to get the show on the road. Hmm... wonder what's put a spring in her step. Out in the woods, everyone seems a bit on edge, but not Falada; soon Ani realizes she should just to listen to her horse when it comes to figuring out the trees and animals around her. One night Falada tells Ani that wolves are coming toward the camp. Ani warns everyone, then sure enough a wolf comes toward them--an archer kills it, though. No one seems grateful to the young princess at all. In fact, everyone is surprised and a little creeped out that she knew wolves were coming that way. Gee, some thanks she gets for saving their lives. A few days later, still on the road, Ani catches Selia and some of the guards joking around. When she asks what's funny though, they all shut her out--she's not sure what's going on, but something is definitely happening between Selia and the guards. So Ani talks to Talone instead. He's the guy who rescued her when she was outside with the swans and fell asleep in the cold, so he must be trustworthy. There are still weeks of traveling ahead before they are supposed to arrive at Bayern, and Falada is tired from the journey. When some of the group is off bathing or getting water, Ishta starts talking to Ani in a really creepy way. She doesn't like Talone being around her because he makes her skin crawl, and she's not sure whom she can trust. Selia returns, cold and wet from bathing in the cold stream, and Ani tells her to bathe in the camp--like she does--but Selia mocks her. Who would heat her water? No one cares about her like they do about Ani. Ani tells her not to worry, though, because soon they'll be in Bayern, where hot water and warm beds await them both. Strangely, Selia replies by saying that even more than that awaits her in Bayern...

