“I have come to tell you that I regret exceedingly the—­the distressing incident of yesterday, and that I sympathize with you deeply—­deeply,” he began.

“It is your fault,” she said, turning from him and again gazing into the street.  “You taught me everything I do not need in Morovenia.  You neglected the one essential.  I am not blind.  It was never your desire that I should be like my sister.”

She spoke in a low monotone and with no tinge of resentment, but her words had an immediate and perturbing effect on Popova, who stared at her wide-eyed and seemed unable to find his voice.

“You must know that I have been governed by your father’s wishes,” he said awkwardly.  “Why do you—­”

“Do not misunderstand me.  I thank you for what you have done.  I would not be other than what I am.  Tell me—­the stranger—­you know, the one in the garden—­has he been taken?” inquired the Princess.

“Taken!  Taken!  Not even a clue—­not a trace!  Either the earth opened to swallow him or else Koldo is a dunce.  The description was most accurate.  By the way, I—­I had a most interesting conversation regarding the case, with a young man at the Hotel de l’Europe last evening.  He is a person of great importance in his own country, also a student of world-politics—­I—­he—­never have I encountered such discrimination in one so young.  It was because of my admiration for his talents and my confidence in his integrity that I consented to deliver a message for him.”

Kalora squirmed in her pillows, and turned eagerly to face Popova.

“A message?  For me?” she cried, eagerly.

“I will admit that the whole proceeding is most irregular, to put it mildly.  The young man was so deeply interested in your perilous adventure of yesterday, and so desirous of felicitating you upon your escape, that I yielded to his importunities and promised to deliver to you this letter.”

He brought it out cautiously, as if it were loaded with an explosive, and Kalora pounced upon it.

“I rely upon you to maintain absolute secrecy in regard to my part in this unusual—­”

But Kalora, unheeding him, had torn open the letter and was reading, as follows: 

  MY DEAR PRINCESS: 

  I hope that’s the way to begin.  Something tells me that you would not
  stand for “Your Majesty” or any of these “Royal Highness” trimmings.

Believe me, you are the best ever.  I have just had a talk with the eminent plain-clothes man who is looking for the burglar that broke into the garden this afternoon and tried to steal you.  He read to me the description.  Say, if I tried to write at this minute all of my present emotions concerning you, I would burn holes in the paper.  When it comes to turning out fiction, Marie Corelli is not in the running.  Honestly, when Mr. Detective walked into the hotel this evening, I figured it a toss-up whether I should ever see home and mother