HER LITTLE HIGHNESS.

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XV, Issue XI, 31 August 1895, Page 271

HER LITTLE HIGHNESS.

Translated from the German of Nataly Von Eschstruth. Author of ‘ A Priestess of Comedy.' ‘Countess Dynar,' ‘A Princess of the Stage.'

ZB "ST

ELISE L. LATHROP.

CHAPTER XIII. The smiling April eky had clouded over, and a wind had arisen. It tossed the branches of the trees, shook the budding bushes, and fanned the bared head of the young man hurrying through the park, but Cyril did notnotice it or the cold drops which struck him in the face ; he did not heed the outer world, so absorbed in thought was he. Cyril, the cool, composed young man, whom nothing had ever before robbed of his selfpossession, was now suddenly hurled down from his lofty pedestal. He had lost belief in himself ; the stone which he had thrown with self-righteous zeal at another rolled back upon him and crushed him. He threw himself down upon a bench, and buried his head in his hands. The tears which had shone on Rafaela’s lashes became molten 'lead falling upon his heart. What had he done ? He had tortured an already wretched fellow-creature. Her soft, pitiful voice still rings in hie ears. He sees her sweet, tear-stained face, and feels his heart throb with grief. How can he expiate what he has done? • Die—die 1’ howls the storm.

Yes, die, but would that help her who clings to the false idea of his fidelity, and who begged in her sweet voice : ‘ Send him to me, Henry 1’ Shall he go, and throwing himself at her feet, cry : ‘ It is I who persecuted you so unjustly 1’ Mo, no, he cannot. Why does she not love his father? That would make him strong in thia hour of despair. She does not love him ; no, she does not love him. The first ray of sunlight breaks through the clouds, and irradiates the young man’s face. She does not love him. He will not die. Hie despised, wretched life suddenly seems valuable. She does not love his father. She is alone, unloved and unhappy ; she shall be happy. She was unjustly attacked; he will defend her, and will live for that. He can never confess his guilt. Never ! It would separate him from her for all time ; and she has called for him. He has taken so much from her. Must he not first restore it to her ? Yes, he must; it is his duty. The storm has abated, and the sun breaks through the clouds, and peace gradually comes to the young man’s troubled heart.

The book which he had written he now condemns with a passion which drives him from one extreme to another, and yet it was a mirror in which Rafaela though innocent would be benefited by looking, even although it placed a false mask before her face—a bitter, but beneficial medicine. The church bells of the city tolled, and the flags were at half mast. Prince Carl Gustav, whose end had been predicted for months, had yet died suddenly. While faded flowers yet lingered in the dancing hall, the prince lay on his deathbed.

The new sensational event crowded everything else into the background for the present. ‘ Did we not say so ?' the human ravens croaked. 'Sophienhof is a widow's palace, and Princess Rafaela is a widow because she defied fate.’

Many pitied the dead man thus cut off so prematurely, others declared he was better off. As his marriage had not been a happy one, he and hie wife were better separated. Now Princess Rafaela will probably hesitate to add the final chapter to ‘ Madam Potiphar ’ by marrying Count Cyprian Lankwitz. She has given the country an heir, but still the succession depends upon but one life, and many citizens declare that, for the good of the country, the princess should, as soon as decency permits, marry another prince of royal blood.

These and similar views so absorbed all minds that surprise was general when it was announced that Princess Rafaela was ill with nervous fever, brought on by excitement and grief. In the last hours, at the death bed of her husband she had displayed a tenderness and depth of feeling of which no one had believed her capable. Perhaps the reading of • Madam Potiphar ’ had awakened her conscience ; and realising that it was too late to atone, she shrank with horror from the eight of death. But even this 'sentimentality’ the ladies and gentlemen of her gay court had not ascribed to her, and they were vexed,because it so pleased the ducal party. A reconciliation at the death-bed. Who would have thought that possible ? Eyewitnesses declared that they had seldom been so affected as during that hour. The prince had not asked for his wife. He pro-

bably thought that after dancing all night she would be too weary to look into dying eyes; but Rafaela had fairly forced her way into his room, and her coming pleased the dying m<n. It seemed as though the light form brought with it a last ray of sunlight. Kneeling at his bedside she kissed his cold hands, and with touching words begged his forgiveness if her young, flippant nature had too often grieved him, and in sweet, affecting words, promised that all should be different if he would only stay with her.

Wi'h a last effort ho laid his hands gently upon her head.

‘ Poor child.’ he murmured, ‘ we have to forgive mutually. Neither understood how to bear with dignity tho heavy burden which a princely crown imposes. Death is merciful and will release us both ’ And after a short pause, he added : ‘ Try to remember me kindly, Rafaela—and—and if you wish to make death easier for me, promise that you will love our son as a true, good mother.’

Sobbing loudly, she pressed her face against his hand.

• I do love him, Carl. I will do everything to make him love me in return.’ Then she flitted noiselessly away, returning after a few minutes with the loudly screaming, struggling little crownprince in her arm°. Her face was more ghastly than that of the dying man. The darkened room, the grave strangers, frightened the child and silenced it for the moment. It stared with groat, horrified eyes at its father, whom helping arms supported on his pillows. ■ My child, little Carl Henry !’ smiled the prince, his eyes growing dim. ‘ For the first time in his mother’s arms—God bless you both 1’

That was his last conscious moment; delirium returned, then the lethargy from which he never rallied.

During the funeral ceremony Rafaela was ill, and when the young ptincess drove out in the park for the first time, the fraillooking face surrounded by the long crape veil was so deadly pale and grave, that, at this unwonted sight, the citizens almost forgot to remove their hats in their amazement.

The princess had expressed the ardent wish that little Carl Henry should accompany her on her drive, but the attempt had been frustrated by the little prince’s uncon trollable'sc reams. The nurse declared in despair that it was only madam’s unusually gloomy attire that frightened the child, and as no coaxing or petting availed, Rafaela finally sighed resignedly : ‘Torment him no longer, but come with him to my boudoir afterward ; perhaps he will be better if I play with him.’ She gave the signal for departure, and the court lady noticed in alarm that great tears rolled over the pale cheeks, and this was also commented upon in the city, where every trifle was discussed. So they also knew that the little prince had been as unruly and hostile toward his mother in her boudoir as previously in the carriage. All attempts to accustom him to her failed, and the mother evidently suffered from her child’s outspoken dislike. The little prince clung all the more to the Duchess Renee, and although the two sisters in-law had become fully reconciled since Carl Gustav’s death, their friendly relations were doubly strengthened by the little prince’s preference. The duchess consoled tho poor, unhappy young mother with all the hopeful confidence peculiar to her nature.

• Let him grow older and become sensible,’ she laughed. • Children are unreliable. The more you trouble yourself about him now the more obstinately he turns away. Wait awhile. Take the southern trip for the winter months which your physicians so earnestly advise Baby will forget you meanwhile, and when he makes your acquaintance again, he will turn to you as quickly as to other ladies, who have the charm of novelty for him.’ The duchess smiled confidently, and Rafaela threw herself in her arms, sobbing loudly. She did not hear what Renee said to the duke a few minutes later, sighing : • Poor Rafaela I I tried to deceive her as to the truth, and hasten her departure. Carl will never accustom himself to her. Strangely enough, he seems to have inherited his father’s cold, hostile feeling toward his mother.'

Rafaela left the city, accompanied only by an old court marshal and his widowed daughter. Nothing more was said of • Madam Potiphar,' and the ducal couple

anxiously avoided exciting the unhappy young mother by alluding to it. She had not asked for Cyril Lankwilz again, and consequently had not seen him, as she shrank timidly from all intercourse, even the most usual.

Since her departure,Sophienhof once more lav dark and deserted. At Duchess Renee's wish the little crown-prince and his retinue had been transferred to the palace, where he might be under the duchess’s loving care. Regular and more and more encouraging news arrived from Rafaela. She lived very quietly in Nice, strictly preserving her incognita, and no one suspected that she was the original of • Madam Potiphar,’ which book was still much discussed, although no longer the lending topic of conversation. The hea'th of the most charming of princesses improved. Rafaela once more took interest in the outer world, and in her last letter she mentioned • Madam Potiphar ’ herself, and asked if the author of the book had yet been discovered. By the phvsicians’ advice she would pass the summer at the seashore, and only at tho expiration of her year of mourning return to her home and accustomed circumstances. The separation 'rom the capital was no trial to her, but all the more that from h< r little son. It seemed as though the princess wished now to make up f< r any former lack of love and care for her child. She wrote to the duke : ‘The sad dividing wall which formerly stood between babv and me death has removed. Now for the first time, I have the feeling that Carl Henry belongs wholly to me. I sincerely hope that the persons who tried to prevent my intercourse with my darling, and declared that “ the nursery is no place for the princess” will gradually yield me my rights. I suffer unspeakably under present conditions, and will only believe that God has forgiven me my faults, when He turns my child’s heart to me.’ Duke Henry had read this letter in loud, excited tones in Renee’s boudoir,unsuspecting that Count Cyril Lankwitz was waiting in the next room to hand the duchess several private telegrams and petitions, he having been made, on the duchess’ birth day, her chamberlain, a distinction which seemed to have had a strange effect upon the young man. His former mood and misanthropy had changed to a most remarkable graciousness and consideration toward everyone. Though still grave and gloomy, he was no longer bitter and morose, but rather behaved like one who is trying to fight hie own prejudices and to atone.

Society could notunderstand this miracle, but now welcomed the former misanthrope with open arms ; and Count Cyprian was the most delighted of all, declaring that now, for the first time, did he really understand that his son was, indeed, his own flesh and blood.

Different as the two were, they might often now be seen in the same drawingroom, where strangers still always took them for brothers. Cyril had a most excel lent influence upon his father, and although Cyprian would not give up extravagant habits in a night, it became painful for him to al'ow this son, whose gifts he admired and recognised more and more, to pay his debts again and again. Count Cyprian did not grow old. The silver threads in his hair did not detract from his good looks, but father and son were not in the least jealous of each other, and their relations pleasanter than ever. It excited great amusement among tho ladies that in time a most tender friendship had been formed between the young chamberlain, Lankwitz, and the now three-ycar-old crown prince. How this had come about no one knew, but whoever had seen tho world of love and tenderness in the dark eyes, or heard the loving tone in the deep voice when tho count held the little golden-haired prince on his knees and told him such delightful fairy tales, cou'd have understood why Carl Henry threw his arms around Cyril’s neck and declared : ‘I love you. You must stay with me always I’ No one had such an influence over the spoiled child as the chamberlain, and it had become a matter of course that Count Cyril was to be sent for to bring the ob-tinate child to reason when any conflict arose.

Duchess Renee had told the princess of this amusing fact, but had received no answer from Rafaela. Her letters grew daily more impatient and longing, and finally a brief, decided telegram announced

her return to Sophienhof, the widow's palace. CHAPTER XIV. Castle Bah ren berg had lain foi years as though in a sleep. Since the two sisters. Claudine and Florence, had moved into their magnificent double palace, many autumn storms had swept over it. Lite passed monotonously, one day just like tho next, with no refreshing breath of novelty, no intercourse with the outer world. Had it been monotonous there before Florence’s flight and marriage, it was now fairly death-like. No new servants were engaged, all was old. frail and mouldy, and those who daily saw the tall woman in her deep mourning forgot that there was laughing young life in other castles. Here no one laughed or danced ; here lived only a solitary, unhappy woman, for Claudine was unhappy, embittered ; all her life she had been deceived, lonely and misunderstood.

The very wealthy Baroness Claudine ! Often she sat in her tower-room, and the moonlight fell on her pale, sad face, as her thoughts flew far back to the past. Mother-love I An unknown word to her. The days of her childhood were dark and empty, broken only by her father’s passionate bursts of rage. But once had there come a ray of sunlight, when she was allowed to accept her aunts invitation. What a memorably happy moment that had been when she first entered the brightly lighted dancing - school Sly, scaicely daring to breathe, she stood in a corner, her little heart quivering with de light, for now the dreams of her fairy-tales were to come true. She gazed about the dancing-hall and waited for the curlyhaired prince, who would surely come and take pity on Cinderella.

And he came. How handsome he was ! They called him Valleral. The boys admired him and the girls trembled with delight and blushed like a rose when he honoured them with a glance. Poor, ugly weed, what does the sun care that your whole heart belongs to him. - Ho seeks only the queen.flower, the rose.

Claudine loved with all the passion of her young heart, with all the fidelity ot a lonely nature, but he never noticed the quiet country girl, nor saw how pale she grew as he passed her again and again, choosing some fairer one from her side.

These were torments for her young heart. She looked forward to nothing but the dancing lessons, and when they came they brought nothing but humiliation. One day she danced opposite him in a quadrille. Her face flushed. The consciousness of being seen by him made her more awkward than ever. Valleral did not suspect what sharp ears she had, nor vhat they were strained to hear his voice above the music. •Good gracious, the poor little country girl is homely. Some homeliness is allowed, but Claudine abu.-es this leave,’ he eaid to his partner, and then laughed merrily as ever. But a frost had fallen on the poor weed and killed its only young blossom of love. Claudine suffered indescribably, fled back to solitude, and sought consolation in her father’s misanthropical teachings. She had inherited a tendency in this direction. Now it became deep-rooted. All that was left her was her sister. She concentrated all her tenderness on Florence, and when she deceived her and secretly fled, nothing remained but despair. She could not pardon Florence ; the latter had not deserved it All her efforts at re conciliation were prompted, not by love—if she had loved her, could she have thus wounded her?—but by avarice. This was the last, bitter drop in her cup. Claudine von Bahrenberg had done with her sister. She had no other relatives, nor was she sufficiently interested in chant able institutions which she had never seen to leave them her enormous fortune. The old lady stares thoughtfully into space. She sits in her favourite place at the tower window*. A racking cough shakes her thin form ever and anon. She feels that before the first snow covers the churchyard her end will have come. And this thought fills her heart with poace. But to whom shall she leave all her wealth ? Mechanically her eyes glance around the room ; suddenly thev test upon a book lying on her writing desk and a flush rises to the sunken cheeks, and her eyes brighten as though she had seen the face of one long sought. Ye 9, a friend. Why did her thoughts wander so far into the past, while here,

beside her, lies the best, most faithful friend *he has met in years — ‘ Madam Potiphar !* How much diversion, how many pleasant hours this book has (riven her. It was, in deed, the only friend who had sought her out in her loneliness, and who had given her news once more of him whom she had never forgotten, but about whom she had questioned no one — Cyprian Lankwitz. Reviews of this book, which had created such scandal by its comments upon society in the capital, had first called her attention to it. She had ordered it, and read it with ever increasing enthusiasm. All these opinions were hers ; the author of the book felt as she did, and that brought him nearer the hermit of Bahrenberg than any one before. She had sent her agent to the capital to learn the author, with what result can be imagined. She grew more and more fond of the book. Its delightful, if sharp, humour made her smile, although she fancied she had forgotten how. The unknown author, * Severin,’ amused her, made her laugh and cry, and shortened her lonely hours. Truly, this anonymous * Severin ’ deserved to be rewarded.

A smile lit up the sick woman’s features, and hastily, in nervous dread lest death might frustrate, her plans, she commanded a messenger to ride to the nearest town and fetch lawvers that she might make her will.

The lawyers came just in time. The invalid’s condition had been aggravated by her feverish excitemet.

The will was drawn up, and to the amazement of the lawyer, Claudine, Baroness von Bahrenberg, made the author of the book, * Madam Potiphar.’ A. Severin, the universal heir of her large fortune. Baroness Florence Ohly’s name was not mentioned, and her daughter, Mignon, inherited only the old family diamonds, which must remain in the fami’v.

Half the castle and tine estate, as well as Claudine’s actual cash, were to fall to an unknown man who had alarmed the fashionable world by a book whose contents were so scandalous that he was forced to conceal his identity behind a pseudonym. A notary called the baroness’s attention to the fact that * A. Severin ’ was a mask which, in spite of all conceivable efforts, had as yet remained unpierced, but one of the other men interrupted him with a significant wink.

• Pray, my good friend, do not grudge the world this tine joke. Think of the sensation. The author of ‘ Madam Potiphar’ is offered a princely fortune if he will lift his visor. Something so interesting has not occurred before in the nineteenth century. Do you think a mortal can resist this tempting will? Never ! My fingers burn to publish the announcement in the newspapers. So keep still. Whether it is a pseudonym or not, now’ we will discover the author of “ Madam Potiphar.” ’ So the testament was signed and sealed, and such peaceful calm camo over Baroness Claudine that her physician almost began to hope for an improvement in her condition.

But when the first snowflakes whirled in the air, the martyr of Bahrenberg lay pa‘e and cold upon her pillow, and it seemed to those who saw her that the homely old face had never looked so beautiful as «ince the kiss of the silent angel who ends ail earthly misery. The lawyers could scarcely await the time for opening the will. With one stroke the already half forgotten • Madam Potiphar would be the centre of interest, and solution of the anonymous ridd'u would surely’ create more sensation than in the first place the book had created. And it was so.

Probably printers’ ink never created more sensation than the legal announcement that Baroness Claudine von Bahrenberg had ’eft her large fortune to the author of the book, * Madam Potiphar.’ and that the author, *A. Severin,’ or the person identical with this pseudonym, had only to present himself to the undersigned lawyer, and prove h?s identity, to enter upon his inheritance. This wa? an event which would electrify the coldest being. Public interest grew from day to day. • Has he announced himself ?’ was the burning question. There was no other topic of conversation, and where ‘Madam Potiphar’ had long lain in a corner, it was quickly brought out again and dusted. it had never been imagined that Claudine von Bahrenberg would thus excite their curiosity and impatience once more. But * A. Severin ’ was a pseudonym and — remained one. CHAPTER XV. Count Cyril Lank witz’s rooms were noticeable for their extreme simplicity. Heavy old furniture, costly only because of its age, had been brought from his mother’s old castle. Ornaments, arms and costly knick-knacks would only have been in his way. in which respect he was a

striking contrast to his father, whose refined, artistic taste never wearied of accomplishing new marvels of decoration and comfort, which trifles consumed a small fortune. Cyril eat in his large leather covered armchair, a thick wolfskin beneath hie feet, an extinguished cigar between his teeth. He was absorbed in bis work, and forgetful of all else. An open letter from Princess Hermine lay before him, and the young count was poring over the damaged chronicles which he bad saved from Neudeck. There was a furious ring at the door bell. Only Count Cyprian rang thus. His hasty, elastic step was heard almost immediately in the hall. ‘ Good evening, my boy,’ he cried, entering the room. ‘ The devil ! Busy again ?’ Valleral slapped bis eon affectionately on the back, threw his coat to the old servant who had limped after him, and rubbed his hands. * Something warm, old man. A little cognac—but quick !’ The servant gave his young master a helpless, imploring glance, and Cyril quickly pushed back his chair and laid down his pen. ‘This is delightful, papa. I have just this moment finished. Some cognac, then, at once.’ And he drew out his keys and went up to an old carved sideboard. * You mav go, Braun. I have everything here.’ The captain followed bis eon, both bands in his pockets, and stared curiously over his shoulder into the open cupboard. He laughed softly to himself. * Just like an old maid ! Everything neat and orderly. Glasses, bottles, and plates—canned goods—dear me, you can serve a breakfast at any moment,* and he threw himself down upon the comfortable old sofa. ‘You are a queer fellow. Hosanna. To be sure you live as uoccmfortably as a backwoodsman, without any service ; but even that has its advantages ; you are spared much vexation. lam not distrustful, but now I belive that you are right, and that that wretched Parisian, my valet, robs me unmercifully.’ * Have you discharged him ?’ Valleral sighed and took the offered glass of cognac. ‘To be frank, I have not the courage, I am so used to the fellow. He is so attentive, knows all my habits and likings ; and, do you know, my.boy, at my age, one becomes a trifle lazy and helpless, and the perpetual training of servants is terrible.’ ‘Still I should think it more agreeable than such a reversed order of things. You are not Moulin’s master ; he is yours.’ Cyprian laughed. * I have often thought recently what a wretched existence an old bachelor leads.’ Cyril raised his head abruptly. ‘And you say that ?’ * I say it. Even liberty may become burdensome, because one who possesses it usually abuses it. It has lost the charm of novelty for me, and in spite of my gay life, lam unspeakably bored. How valuable a true woman’s love is. 1 long for all the tender interest your mother used to take in everything that concerned me. Who really sympathises now with me?’ ‘ J, father.’

‘My good boy ! Yes, you are a comfort when 1 can come and unburden my heart to you, but you live here and I live there ; and however attached a father and son may be, it is quite different from the love of a wife, who is one heart and soul with you.‘ Cyril laughed nervously. ‘ You are in a strange mood to-day, papa, a mood which 1 have never seen you in before.’ He laid bis arm on the captain’s shoulders. ‘ What makes you so gloomy ? Moulin alone, or a mournful, serious ebb in the cash box, which all your joy and love of life have drained ?’ Valleral smoothed his handsome moustache thoughtfully. He smiled, but even his smile was somewhat sad. • Ebb—a serious ebb,’ he sighed, deeply. * Ah, dear, innocent, saintly Hosanna, what does a model man like you know of the terrible meaning of this word?’ He rose and paced the room excitedly. Suddenly he paused before his son and rested both hands heavily on hie shoulders. ‘ Cyril,’ he murmured, * I foolishly gambled for a few evenings, had no luck, and am on the verge of ruin.’ The young count started up in horror. • Good heavens •’ he groaned. But Valleral continued, with flushed face: ‘ As I know that at present you need every penny yourself to tide over the strike of your miners without impairing your estates, I look upon it as absolutely cut of the question, my boy. that you should hold your hopeless old father above water this time. What I need is too much —and so—so —’ The speaker paused, drew out his perfumed handkerchief, and mopped his brow. Cyril sat as though paralyzed, and stared straight before him. * And so?’ be repeatedly faintly, mechanically. *So I must marry?’ ‘ Marry !' • And some wealthy, very wealthy woman,' said Valleral, seating himself comfortably on the sofa again. Now that he

had once mentioned the spectre, it had lest its terror for him. Uncomfortable moods were always of short duration with him. and now bit gay temper bad the upper hand again. * You see. my boy, you have no concern in the maltei ; you are independent, of age, and—the devil ! —I have no more money to leave you, so it really is quite indifferent to you how many brothers and sisters might share in the in heritance of this nothing ' Cyril seemed scarcely to hear him. * And upon which of our wealthy heiresses has your choice fallen ?’ be asked. Cyprian had completely shaken off his pessimistic mood. He rolled a cigarette most cheerful y, and crossed his lege, displaying his handsome silk hose above his patent leather shoes. * Well, my boy. it is probably best that 1 should be quite frank with you, so that we may both know what we wish, and what, if I succeed, is to keep my head above water. Therefore—in short —I think of courting the princess.’ * Rafaels ?’ came like a trembling cry from Cyril’s lips. The Captain laughed. * Does it astonish you ? I thought the prophecy of it was already in every one’s mouth. Have you forgotten ‘Madam Potiphar?’ And especially now, when it has been recalled to everyone's memory. But of that later. First, let us come to the root of the matter. Rafaela, then. Do you not find this match a suitable one ?’ Cyril did not answer ; his deathly pale face was averted, so his father continued gayly : ' She is a widow and independent; she has done her duty and given the country an heir to the throne. Now is the time for her to think of her heart, and not merely her country.’ * Of her heart!' * And that this heart, with all its passionate love, belongs to me, she has proved plainly enough.' ‘ Indeed ! Are you so perfectly sure ?’ ‘ Perfectly. Her manner could never leave me in doubt.’ ‘Even during her widowhood? Have you spoken alone with her since Carl Gustav’s death?' The speaker’s voice sounded hollow and muffled.

‘No, not that. The poor little woman

has behaved in a most exemplary manner, and that attracts me—yes, in fact, it was that that first turned my heart to her ' Cyril’s eyes flashed strangely. * And if the princess only coquetted with you : if she never seriously thought of marrying you? 1 The captain shrugged hie shoulders with a light laugh. * Old love does not die. I believe that I am still irresistible enough to win any woman whom I actually desire to win. Let me merely go to work as a lover. You will marvel.* Cyril frowned. ‘Has your heart really chosen her, father, or do you merely wish to marry her to avert ruin P Valleral leaned his handsome head thoughtlully back upon the cushions. * This question is easier asked than answered. Let us see. In love up to my ears, as the saying goes ; in love with all the youthful, passionate fire of a first love —no, Cyril, probably my heart is no longer capable of that, although really it is remarkable when one considers Rafaela's charms and great beauty. But love is acknowledged to be blind, and belongs in the category of absurdities to which no logic can be applied. What was formerly so distasteful to me in Rafaela’s manner that it prevented me from falling passionately in love with her, was possibly the fait that she oflered me her love unasked. Since her widowhood, since the unfortunate “ Madam Potiphar ” appeared, she has treated me coldly, distantly, even indifferently. That pleased me. She has become more and more to my taste, and if the witch continues to treat me so badly, perhaps, despite my grey hairs, I may fall passionately in love with her. At present —you see how alarmingly frank I am I feel no warmer emotions toward her than toward any other lady. They all pay too much court to me, so they all bore me. My mind can, therefore, form my plans all the more clearly. Rafaela would be the most brilliant match for me, even if she did not wear a coronet. “Madam Potiphar” has to a certain extent, compromised the princess with me. I Jwill show her that in the proper light and make it seem plausible. She will see that our marriage has become a moral necessity. Her love will become more ardent, and Hymen will give us bis

blessing. Now, you must admit that lam right, my boy.’ Cyril was deathly pale. He pressed both hands to hie head, as though torcing him self to be calm.

‘The world has forgotten “ Madam Poti phar, ’ the book has lost its effect,’ be mur mured hoarsely. The captain eat up eagerly.

‘Forgotten? Now, after Claudine Bahrenberg’a will, forgotten?’ he cried, looking as though he did not understand. The young chamberlain stared at him blankly. * What has Baroness von Bahrenberg to do with “ Madam Potiphar ?”' ‘Boy I —Man alive, have you not yet beard the latest ? I really believe, Hosanna, you think the newspapers too godless to read.’ * I do not understand you !* gasped the tortured Cyril. Cyprian hastily drew a paper from his pocket. * You have not read this yet?’ * No, why should I have read it?’ * Oh, sancta simplicitas ! The bookworm pores over leather folios, and refreshes himself with the news of past centuries, while the present hurls its bombs into the world. Here, read, and remain in possession of your senses.’ Laughingly tbe captain opened tbe newspaper and placed it in his son’s hands. Cyril glanced at it indifferently. Suddenly he started slightly and stared at a column in breathless horror. Claudine von Bahrenberg had made the author of ‘Madam Potiphar’ her sole heir I That again was an inexhaustible supply of water for the mill of scandal. That was an event of inestimable consequence. As though crushed by the weight of this second, unexpected blow, Cyril’s bead fell forward on his trembling hands. * Oh, God, this is terrible !’ he groaned. The captain burst into loud laughter. * Boy, are you crazy ? You are as sentimental to day as a consumptive maiden. Why does the Bahrenberg will irritate you? I would, at most, think it un'ortunate that I am not the author of the little book. Parbleu ! In that case I would not hesitate for a moment to give up my incognito. The inheritance mounts into millions, and for such a prize I would gladly let myself be wondered at as an intellectual man.'

Cyril raised bis head suddenly, his face d storied with emotion ‘lndeed ? And Princess Rafaela ? Would you so easily give up her love and hand for this miserable mammon ? ’ cried Cyril bitterly. •Why give it up ? At first she would, of course, hurl all her thunder-bolts of dis favour upon me,’ said Valleral. shrugging his shoulders catelesely. * But that would make our little war of love interesting. I imagine the angry goddess would be charming, and I am vain enough to flatter myself that in time I could reconcile her. Pah? Why do we discuss soap bubbles. Unfortunately, poor devil that I am, I am not the author of “ Madam Potiphar.’’ and my only consolation in the matter is that perhaps I will now learn who the droll fellow is who describes me—ha, ba, ha !—as a prudish Joseph.’ Cyril sat erect, and a look of unnatural repose made his colourless face appear rigid. ‘Do you think, then, that he will announce himself ? Possibly there are men to whom such wealth would be a recompense for anything.' He interrupted himself hastily. • Well, let us return to our first and more important theme. So you have debts? Pray tell me the amount, papa.’ ‘Nonsense ! I will not consent that you pay them.' • This one—last time it will probably be possible for me to do so,' the young count hastily assured him, and for the first time the colour returned to his cheeks. ‘Do you think I would allow you to be your wife’s slave merely because she bad saved you, with a few banknotes, from poverty ? You aro not suited to married life ; it would be your misery.' ‘ Oh, no, indeed ! I assure you, on my word, that I will feel quite comfortable in my old days as a domestic man.' Valleral calmly lighted a cigarette, after offering one to his eon, who declined with a gesture.

* You see, I am still a hand-ome fellow, am wonderlul y successful with the ladies, but—who knows how long this will last.’

Cyril made an impatient movement. • Do not deceive yourself with such illusions which will never be realised. A man like you would not subm t to feminine caprice. Your domestic happiness would

not last long, and instead of a comfortable, untroubled old age. you would have a hell upon earth. I beg you, let me arrange your affairs this one time. It will be the last time possible, but if God wills also the last that you need my help, eh, father?’ * You may fully rely upon that. Hosanna,’ said the captain, firmly. * Had I not drunk so much champagne it would not have happened—on my word !’ * And you will give up your absuid matrimonial plans?' Valleral sighed. ‘ Heaven knows why you get along so badly with the princess. She would surely have listened to me—but—oh, well, I will not be unthankful to you, my good boy.’ * Promise me—l beg you.’ •A vow? Good gracious, then, night and day I should be tempted to break it. Who can seriously answer for his heart? If the princess continues to treat mo badiy, my obstinacy will demand that her heart be captivated once more. Good heavens, boy. do not look so wild! The knife is not actually at my throat yet, if you really will be so generous as to buy off your old father once more—' * Yes, I will. Have you time to discuss the details of the matter with me at once ?’ * Impossible, my dear, nor is there such urgency. My creditor is a gentleman. I should like to pay a call and find out when and where Rafaels will make her entrance to morrow. I should like to send her tome flowers as greeting.’ * The hour of her arrival is to remain an absolute secret, as her highness travels in eognita, and has forbidden all official welcome.’ * Nonsense ! That is merely some bit of importance on the court marshal’s part. Why this absolute secrecy ? That the city should be decorated and illuminated, and a delega'ion sent to the railway station, is superfluous and can easily be omitted. But why we, members of society, should be treated like children before Christmas, 1 do not understand.’ * The princess probably intends to live as quietly now as before.’ * Heaven forbid such a notion. All extremes are absurd, and she was no such ■Mary, heaven knows, that she need suddenly become a Mary Magdalen. It is all the influence of that infamous book, "Madam Potiphar !” It would be an eternal shame if our gay, harmless princess

ehould mourn in sackcloth and ashes for the rest of her life.’

* That is not necessary if she really tries to avoid everything that may occasion talk. God grant that the poor young thing may be better understood and more justly judged than formerly.’ *1 wish her that will all my heart.* The captain rose and rang for his overcoat. * But one thing I know, I will write the next “Madam Potiphar,” and then, perhaps, my friend. Baroness Ohly, will give me the other half of Bahrenberg. ’ ‘Ohly ! You remind me most opportunely of an involuntary sin. Here is an invitation which is doubtless addressed to you : ** Count C. von Lankwitz.” As that name belongs to us both, and the baroness saved her ink and did not add “Captain,"! opened the letter, thinking it was addressed to me.’

* C. von Lankwitz. I find it quite serious to have a eon with the same initial.' laughed Cyprian, opening the note hastily. * And besides that, our strangely similar handwriting,’ said Cyril, * Pray, sign all your love-letters with your name in full.’ * Oh course. Ah, friend Ohly has at length returned from her wanderings. “ Mignon’s education by sea and land is completed.” Heaven help us ! Sutely a highly modern young lady, with a classical education, and a volume of her own writings upon the emancipation of woman in her pocket. Well, then : “ Mignon’s education is completed. We think of making our quarters here for the winter, and will be very pleased if you, my dear count, will, as an old friend, be our first dinner guest. To morrow evening, at six o’clock, we expect Countess S.” —Oh, heavens, S. ! —“to be with us on her way north. In case you are free and willing ” — that, of course, Annie Florence, I will come. Thanks, Cyril, this note really pleases me. You were foolish not to accept it for yourself. Had 1 been in your place I would have played the devil of a joke. Well, so much the better. Hosanna permits himself no such jokes as grey haired Valleral. Goodby, then, you dear old chap. To-morrow afternoon I will come and discuss the fatal story of the missing gold pieces with you. Ha, ha I Good night, my dear sober-sides. I suppose you will not come with me to the club ?’ ‘ Not for the world !’ ‘ Well, there have to be such odd fellows

in a world. Good-by, then, my boy. May all the muses be gracious to you.' And Valleral, after a hearty shake of his son’s hand, hurried away. His moodiness was gone like snow in April, and his face was once more all sunshine. CHAPTER XVI. The morning sun shone into Cyril’s rooms Outside was all the splendour of a winter landscape. The ground was white with enow. At the duke's wish, Cyril now occupied rooms in the palace, and this morning the young chamberlain stood at one of the windows, his head resting against the cold pane. He sighed deeply. A few more hours, and fast horses would bring the most charming of princesses back to hernativecity, and with herall the pitiless spirits of remorse and grief, who would whir) her in their wild dance around the author of ‘Madam Potiphar,’ and a new opponent of his happiness, his own father, will appear. The young count stares out at the winter morning, and does not hear the hasty knock at the door. Only the turning of the knob makes him turn hie head. A lackey bows deeply and respectfully. * What ia it, Folkstune?’ * I beg the count’s pardon if I disturbed him. Miss Breddon and Madame de Jery are in despair over hie highness, the little prince. His highness will not let himself be dressed, and is screaming himself into such a state of excitement that the ladies fear he will be very cross when her highness arrives, which may be at any moment.’ ‘ And am I to come ?’ * The ladies earnestly begged the chamberlain.’

* 1 will follow you immediately, Folk stone.’

Another bow and the lackey disappeared behind the portieres. Cyril went to his writing-desk and hastily slipped a small object in Ins breast-pocket. Then he turned at once to the door.

A simple carriage with the ducal arms, but without footman or lackeys, rolled through the palace gateway. Duke Henry had been awaiting it, standing at a window ; and now ringing a bell

violently, he gave orders that the duchess should be notified, and hurried to the hall.

The door had been hastily thrown open, and lackeys rushed from all sides, but they came too late. Princess Rafaela, followed by her lady-in-waiting, hurried up the steps, and excitedly threw herself into her brother’s arms. * How is he Henry ? Is he well ?' The duke smiled, and offered her his arm. * Perfectly so, darling. The little fellow is blooming. Welcome home I Where will you go first? Renee awaits you io the gallery.’ * Let us go to her at once. Will she accompany me to Baby ?’ * Of course.’ And the duke can scarcely keep pace with the hurried steps of the mother The court lady had expected some orders but as none came she withdrew discreetly to give directions concerning the luggage. Such an informal arrival ot a princess had never before occurred in the palace. Meanwhile, Duchess Renee clasped her sister in-law in her arms with tender joy. ‘How fresh and blooming you look, Rafaela?' she cried, delightedly. ‘Thank Heaven, the sacrifice of your journey was not in vain.’ Rafaela smiled absently, and pu-hed the heavy crape veil still further back from the lovely face. ‘Which room does Baby occupy? said she, impatiently. * Quick, quick I Let us go to the little one, Renee. You do not know how I long for him.’ •Will you not first change your dress?’ pleads the duchess, glancing anxiously at the princess’s deep mourning garb. ‘No, no I There will be time enough for that.’ * Remove your hat and veil at least. Perhaps Baby will be frightened at the gloomy look.’ With trembling hands Rafaela laid both aside before anyone could come to her assistance. * Ah, not that, not that I frighten him I’ said she, softly. * I have looked forward to seeing my child so much, Renee. I could not bear it if he were afraid of me.’ The ducal pair exchanged a hasty glance. ‘Nonsense, Rafaela. You must be prepared for that. I wrote you that Carl Henry is remarkably ehy and greets every

strange face with a scream Think that you have been separated from him for a year.’ The princeea’a rosy cheeks have paled. She clasps her hands. * Ah, Benee, if only thia pain might be spared me. I would give half my life for a welcoming smile from my child.' * Be sensible, little sister, and do not require anything unnatural of a three yearold child. Come ! We will first secretly rejoice in the sight of him. Watched from a distance, when he plays by himself, and talks to his accustomed circle, he is prettiest.' * Let us go through Madame de Jory’s room.’ Softly the three royal personagee hurry to the little prince’s suite. Noiselessly Rafaela draws back the portieres, advances a few steps over the thick carpet into the room, and gazes through the open door ot the next one into her child’s play-room. She pauses and, with a happy smile on her lips, listens once more to the beloved little voice. * Mamma is coming. And mamma is the dear, goed Christmas angel. What will she bring Carl Henry ?’ it says, somewhat impatiently. * What will mamma bring her little prince?' replies a man’s deep, rich voice. * A great heart full of love. And, if Carl Henry is very, very good to mamma, then she will fasten on her large, golden wings, like the beautiful angel here, and fly up to tho dear Christ-child, and ask him to bring all the fine playthings that the little prince wishes.* ‘ Why does not mamma always have golden wings on her shoulders ?’ * Because then she would have to fly up to heaven, and stay there always, instead of with us,and that would be very, very sad, for without dear mamma we could never be happy.’ * Would you cry if she flew like an angel ?’ * Yes, I would cry bitter tears.’ * Do you love mamma, too?’ * Very dearly.’ ’Shall she bring you some pretty things from the Christ-child, too ?’ * She will only do that if my little prince gives her a sweet kiss and loves her. Look at this picture well, for then you will know mamma at once.’ ’She will not look so black.' * Yes. mamma has put on a black dress.’ ‘ Will the bring Carl Henry a great big ugar-house ?’

’Certainly, if Carl Henry gives her a sweet kiss.’ * Henry will give her a kiss. Mamma must come very soon, or else Carl Henry will scream.’ Rafaela had long since taken a step forward. Her eyes rested in unbounded amazement upon the strange scene bsfore them. Her little son sat on Count Cyril Lankwitz’s knee, his blonde head resting tenderly upon the count’s breast, and chatted with him in his lisping childish way. And what pains the count took to win the wilful little heart for the mother. The princess trembled, and with outstretched arms, ran and sank down beside her child. * Carl Henry ! Darling ! Here comes mamma to her treasure I’ Cyril had started abruptly, and the little prince threw his arms anxiously around his neck, and stared with great, frightened eyes at this unexpected apparition. * Mamma, Carl Henry ; this is mamma !' cried Cyril, joyously, quickly recovering himself. ’Now, give her a kiss quickly and say, How do you do.' The child still drew back, shyly. * You give her a kiss, first,’ said he suspiciously. Cyril flushed crimson. He stooped and hurriedly whispered a few words in the child’s ear, and with a joyful cry, Carl Henry held out his arms bo lii- mother and let ber take him in her arms. * Dear, dear mamma. Bring a great big tree, with candles, from the Christ-child.' Tears rushed to Rafaela’s eyes. She embraced the child with passionate tenderness, and her eyes were radiant as the little face was pressed affectionately against hers, and the child kissed her. * Dear, dear little Henry !’ she sobbed. * A sugar-house and a big tree with candles. Where are your golden wings, mamma?’ cried the prince, joyfully, anil discovered at the princess’s throat his own miniature, surrounded with diamonds. ’ That is Carl Henry. Cyril says Carl Henry lives in mamma’s heart, and mamma lives in Cyril’s heart—in here I’ and he tapped the count’s breast pocket, to which the latter had returned the princess’s picture. Tho duke and the duchess had joined the group, while the ladies in-waiting, breathless with surprise, hurried, courtesying, from the adjoining room. Rafaela had risen, still with the child in her arms, clasping him as though in a dream, until he struggled and desired to

be set down that he might * show mamma his great big horse.

The duke had laid his hand on Cyril's shoulder.

* That was a master-stroke, my faithful Ekkehard,* he whispered, beaming with pleasure. The count bowed and wished to withdraw modestly ; but Rafaela hastily turned to him. She tried to speak, but could not. In overwhe'ming gratitude, she silently held out both hands, but in her eyes was a whole world ot happiness. Lankwitz bowed quite as stiffly as formerly. He drew her hand to his lips and murmured unintelligible words. His face was deeply flushed, but his eyes looked quite, quite different from formerly. Rafaela gazed up at him in wonder. Then he hastily withdrew. Carl Henry eagerly produced all hie playthings that his little hands could carry. Mamma must see them all, and put on her golden wings and Ily up to the Christ-child and get a great many more. Rafaela’s face was radiant.

Fatigue, hunger and thirst were forgotten. She eat beside her child, and played with him as excitedly as though she feared this were a dream, from which she might waken all too soon. Cyril's long, secret ellorts had borne golden fruit. The nimbus with which he had surrounded the mother's name and picture in the little prince’s eyes now glorified the teality, and the child, usually so shy and disagreeable, intolerant of any stranger near him, now saw in his mother the lovely angel who had come to gratify all hie wishes. This wove the first strong threads of love, and what had tilled all hearts with anxiely had been vanquished Dy Cyril’s tender efforts, which had succeeded in doing the greatest possible kindness to the motherheart. Now he stood in his room at the window and gazed out at the world which had never before seemed so golden and sunny, and, folding his hands, he thought : • I have sinned greatly against her, but in this hour I have graciously been permitted to atone for some of my former deeds.’ CHAPTER XVIL Baron von Ohly's house was brilliantly lighted. Cyprian sprang from Isis carriage and hurried up the steps. He seemed to be the tirst guest.

Baroness Florence looked as fresh and gay as ever. She wore a white toilet with black velvet trimmings, as sole sign that she really was in mourning. To take further notice of her sister's death seemed to be foolish to her. Claudine had died without being reconciled to her sister Her will had been an open disgrace and slight to the Ohly family. It would be absurd to shed crocodile tears for such a sister, ’ The baron is suffering from gout, my dear count, or he would have flown to meet you on the wings of love,’ cried Florence, g«yiy- • Very flattering, but I should prefer to receive a winged angel in my arms. Where have you hidden Baroness Mignon, mamma in-law ?’ She laughed merrily. • Be careful with your joke?, friend Valleral. My unnatural daughter is not the person to be lenient toward them.* ‘ Good gracious—a little spirit of opposition ?’ ‘ At least a •• little spirit *’ who always says no when her frivolous mother says yes. How I come by a daughter so sentimental as Mignon, might serve as a new interest* ing supplement to modern theories of heredity.’ •Chapter II — with “ Valleral and Hosanna” for tho tirst. So this Mignon does not sing of the “land where the orange-blossoms grow/’ but of that where •• f-koals” rage and the reindeer seeks his path with difficulty/ • Very rightly guessed. A sentimental, grave, thoughtful, Swedish temperament. She takes life as seriously as I take it lightly.’ • 1 am extremely curiously to see the grave lady. Why does she make us wait for her V • Not from coquetry. She is bandaging the hand of one of the maids, who cut her hand quite badly in opening a bottle. I think her Samaritan duties will not too long detain her from these as daughter of the house.’ ‘ Samatitan ? B r r ! 1 never had the necessary comprehension of that.’ The count interrupted himself, and turned politely to the door as the other guests began to arrive—several young couples, former devotees of Sophienhof ; a countess and her two daughters, who entered the room with all the assurance of those accustomed to drawing-rooms from child* hood ; a few gay officers — all of whom

passed into the next room to express their sympathy to the poor, afflicted baron. Valleral kept in the background, and watched the portieren. Again they parted. Mignon appeared.

Invo'untarily Cyprian stared at her. Where had he seen thia delicate madonnaface before? It seemed as though he had gazed into these eyes before, and seen these lipa smile ; but where ? Mignon greets her mother's guests, and bends over the old Countess S.’s hand.

What magnificent blonde hair! Tne heavy knot, low in her neck, shone like spun gold. And he had seen just such beautiful hair before, but where? The young guests gathered around her, but how strangely contrasted with them was Mignon. Elegantly and fashionably dressed, she yet looked so maidenly and unpretentious beside them. Her figure is still slight and fragile, her manner simple and childish, pleasant but grave. * Baroness, may I ask you to present me to your daughter?' says Cyprian, drawing near with his accustomed smile of conscious victory.

Mignon glances up at him. What a glance of sweet, shy, lovely embarrassment! She flushes crimson ; her delicate lips quiver as though she would speak, but she remains silent.

* She is delicious !’ whispers the captain to the baroness, loud enough to be heard. Count Cyprian had a special scheme for conversing with young girls. He told that he had often, espec ally in former days, been condemned to take one of these inexperienced beings in to dinner. Then he either was amused much or ate much, and one was as satisfactory as the other. His first question to such a youthful companion was always : * Do you like to skate and dance?' A question usually answered with a shy yes or no. Then he would tell a nice, suitable anecdote, and watch the effect. If a happy appreciation, then the victory was as good as won ; but if her head merely sank lower, with a bahful giggle, and her answer was silence, then Count Lankwitz became more interested in his p!ate during the course. Then followed the next attack. ‘ What pastor confirmed you. Mies X. ?’ The head would be raised quickly, the eyes would flash. She would mention his name. Woe to him ! Valleral, as a matter of principle would attack him, however he contradicted his own convictions in so doing. He would declare the sermons of the clergyman she mentioned vapid, unintellectual and himself too worldly or too orthodox ; in short ho would attack the unknown in the fiercest manner. If this did not help, all was lost. Horrified, the girl would usually forget all shyness, and defend her pastor boldly and enthusiastically. Excitement makes the plainest face attractive, and unconsciously the girl would display all her naive, overflowing little heart. A glimpse of such a young heart is always interesting. Count Cryprian, greatly entertained, would gradually begin to yield. In the thought of winning him over to her adored pastor, his little neighbour would become more and more animated, and since he was so handsome and agreeable, the more remorse Valleral showed, the more would her eyes beam. Inch by inch, he let her conquer ; then, at dessert, would gravely assure her that she had converted him to quite a different opinion. The girl would beam with pride and satisfaction, select the choicest bonbons for him, and try to reward him by the greatest graciousness. In this case. Cyprian had enjoyed himself and usually made the acquaintance of a dear little girl. But if hie manoeuvre failed, if his opinion of her pastor elicited only an insulted shrug of her shoulders and annihilating silence, then he knew that further efforts were useless here, calmly let her pout and ate hie dinner with the best of appetites. * Kind friend, let me take Mignon in to dinner,' he asked the baroness, who could scarcely believe her ears. * Impossible, my dear captain. You will bask in the smiles of your hostess.’ * Of course, it must be very hard for you to give me up, baroness,' said he, teasingly, with one of his irresistible smiles. ’ but such a sacrifice should not be declined by a mother ; it is for her daughter.’ She struck him playfully with her feather fan. ‘ You arrogant fellow ! 1 know no better way to punish you in this moment than by fulfilling your wish.’ ‘ To punish ?’ The bxronees smiled strangely. * My daughter will prove to you that she thinks such a sacrifice tiresome and unnecessary. Mignon’s list of favourites at present begins with lieutenantsand descends to captains.’ * You arouse the lion of vanity in me.' * Who is always active enough to ensnare a mouse, if no noble game is in sight.' * Your good opinion of me fairly enchants me, baroness.* * Mocker ! Do you not know the fable in

which King Lion was the slave of a poor little mouse ?' * I am so fond of being a slave, and am so modest that I will put up with the smallest hand or foot.’ * Very well, if my poor child is willing to take you instead of her charming lieutenant —’ * Opposition would throw an unfortunate light upon her mother’s bringing up.’ * You are right. lam convinced that Mignon will have sufficient reverence for age to bear the unavoidable honour with dignity.’ * But, dear baroness—really you are not so very old—’ Valleral looked most innocent, but the baroness, who had already turned away, quickly returned : * I absolutely did not speak of myself, you ungallant man !' said she, laughingly shaking her finger at him. * But if you thought of me it is all the more terrible that you show no more veneration.’ Cyprian crossed his arms with a languishing glance. ‘ I not only venerate it—l adore it.’ * Good gracious, where ?' cried the Baroness von Ohly. He bent close to her and whispered : ‘ In wine and cigars.’

• Good • for - nothing !’ and Mignon's mamma rustled away, horrified. ( To be Continued.)