The George Barr McCutcheon MEGAPACK ®. George Barr McCutcheon

the fortress, which I am to inspect.”

      “Very well, your highness,” he respectfully said. He was thinking of Miss Calhoun, an American girl, although he called her “your highness.” “May I be permitted to ask for instructions that can come only from your highness?”

      “Certainly,” she replied. His manner was more deferential than she had ever known it to be, but he threw a bomb into her fine composure with his next remark. He addressed her in the Graustark language:

      “Is it your desire that I shall continue to address you in English?”

      Beverly’s face turned a bit red and her eyes wavered. By a wonderful effort she retained her self-control, stammering ever so faintly when she said in English:

      “I wish you would speak English,” unwittingly giving answer to his question. “I shall insist upon that. Your English is too good to be spoiled.”

      Then he made a bold test, his first having failed. He spoke once more in the native tongue, this time softly and earnestly.

      “As you wish, your highness, but I think it is a most ridiculous practice,” he said, and his heart lost none of its courage. Beverly looked at him almost pathetically. She knew that behind the curtain two young women were enjoying her discomfiture. Something told her that they were stifling their mirth with dainty lace-bordered handkerchiefs.

      “That will do, sir,” she managed to say firmly. “It’s very nice of you, but after this pay your homage in English,” she went on, taking a long chance on his remark. It must have been complimentary, she reasoned. As for Baldos, the faintest sign of a smile touched his lips and his eyes were twinkling as he bent his head quickly. Franz was right; she did not know a word of the Graustark language.

      “I have entered the service for six months, your highness,” he said in English. “You have honored me, and I give my heart as well as my arm to your cause.”

      Beverly, breathing easier, was properly impressed by this promise of fealty. She was looking with pride upon the figure of her stalwart protege.

      “I hope you have destroyed that horrid black patch,” she said.

      “It has gone to keep company with other devoted but deserted friends,” he said, a tinge of bitterness in his voice.

      “The uniform is vastly becoming,” she went on, realizing helplessly that she was providing intense amusement for the unseen auditors.

      “It shames the rags in which you found me.”

      “I shall never forget them, Baldos,” she said, with a strange earnestness in her voice.

      “May I presume to inquire after the health of your good Aunt Fanny and—although I did not see him—your Uncle Sam?” he asked, with a face as straight and sincere as that of a judge. Beverly swallowed suddenly and checked a laugh with some difficulty.

      “Aunt Fanny is never ill. Some day I shall tell you more of Uncle Sam. It will interest you.”

      “Another question, if it please your highness. Do you expect to return to America soon?”

      This was the unexpected, but she met it with admirable composure.

      “It depends upon the time when Prince Dantan resumes the throne in Dawsbergen,” she said.

      “And that day may never come,” said he, such mocking regret in his voice that she looked upon him with newer interest.

      “Why, I really believe you want to go to America,” she cried.

      The eyes of Baldos had been furtively drawn to the curtain more than once during the last few minutes. An occasional movement of the long oriental hangings attracted his attention. It dawned upon him that the little play was being overheard, whether by spies or conspirators he knew not. Resentment sprang up in his breast and gave birth to a daring that was as spectacular as it was confounding. With long, noiseless strides, he reached the door before Beverly could interpose. She half started from her chair, her eyes wide with dismay, her lips parted, but his hand was already clutching the curtain. He drew it aside relentlessly.

      Two startled women stood exposed to view, smiles dying on their amazed faces. Their backs were against the closed door and two hands clutching handkerchiefs dropped from a most significant altitude. One of them flashed an imperious glance at the bold discoverer, and he knew he was looking upon the real princess of Graustark. He did not lose his composure. Without a tremor he turned to the American girl.

      “Your highness,” he said clearly, coolly, “I fear we have spies and eavesdroppers here. Is your court made up of—I should say, they are doubtless a pair of curious ladies-in-waiting. Shall I begin my service, your highness, by escorting them to yonder door?”

      CHAPTER XIII

      THE THREE PRINCES

      Beverly gasped. The countess stared blankly at the new guard. Yetive flushed deeply, bit her lip in hopeless chagrin, and dropped her eyes. A pretty turn, indeed, the play had taken! Not a word was uttered for a full half-minute; nor did the guilty witnesses venture forth from their retreat. Baldos stood tall and impassive, holding the curtain aside. At last the shadow of a smile crept into the face of the princess, but her tones were full of deep humility when she spoke.

      “We crave permission to retire, your highness,” she said, and there was virtuous appeal in her eyes. “I pray forgiveness for this indiscretion and implore you to be lenient with two miserable creatures who love you so well that they forget their dignity.”

      “I am amazed and shocked,” was all that Beverly could say. “You may go, but return to me within an hour. I will then hear what you have to say.”

      Slowly, even humbly, the ruler of Graustark and her cousin passed beneath the upraised arm of the new guard. He opened a door on the opposite side of the room, and they went out, to all appearance thoroughly crestfallen. The steady features of the guard did not relax for the fraction of a second, but his heart was thumping disgracefully.

      “Come here, Baldos,” commanded Beverly, a bit pale, but recovering her wits with admirable promptness. “This is a matter which I shall dispose of privately. It is to go no further, you are to understand.”

      “Yes, your highness.”

      “You may go now. Colonel Quinnox will explain everything,” she said hurriedly. She was eager to be rid of him. As he turned away she observed a faint but peculiar smile at the corner of his mouth.

      “Come here, sir!” she exclaimed hotly. He paused, his face as sombre as an owl’s. “What do you mean by laughing like that?” she demanded. He caught the fierce note in her voice, but gave it the proper interpretation.

      “Laughing, your highness?” he said in deep surprise. “You must be mistaken. I am sure that I could not have laughed in the presence of a princess.”

      “It must have been a—a shadow, then,” she retracted, somewhat startled by his rejoinder. “Very well, then; you are dismissed.”

      As he was about to open the door through which he had entered the room, it swung wide and Count Marlanx strode in. Baldos paused irresolutely, and then proceeded on his way without paying the slightest attention to the commander of the army. Marlanx came to an amazed stop and his face flamed with resentment.

      “Halt, sir!” he exclaimed harshly. “Don’t you know enough to salute me, sir?”

      Baldos turned instantly, his figure straightening like a flash. His eyes met those of the Iron Count and did not waver, although his face went white with passion.

      “And who are you, sir?” he asked in cold, steely tones. The count almost reeled.

      “Your superior officer—that should be enough for you!” he half hissed with deadly levelness.

      “Oh, then I see no reason why I should not salute you, sir,” said Baldos, with one of his rare smiles. He saluted his superior officer a shade too elaborately and turned away.