At the end of five months he was devoutly, even pathetically, hoping that his uncle was no false prophet.  He loathed Thorberg; he hated the inhabitants; he smarted under the sting of royal disdain; he had no real friends, no boon companions and he was obliged to be good!  What wonder, then, that the bored, suffering, vivacious Mr. Chase seized the first opportunity to leap headforemost into the very thick of a most appalling indiscretion!

When he first arrived in Thorberg to assume his sluggish duties he was not aware of the fact that the Grand Duke had an unmarried daughter, the Princess Genevra.  Nor, upon learning that the young lady existed, was he particularly impressed; the royal princesses he had been privileged to look upon were not remarkable for their personal attractiveness:  he forthwith established Genevra in what he considered to be her proper sphere.

She was visiting in St. Petersburg or Berlin or some other place—­he gave it no thought at the time—­when he reached his post of duty, and it was toward the end of his fifth month before she returned to her father’s palace in Thorberg.  He awoke to the importance of the occasion, and took some slight interest in the return of the royal young lady—­even going so far as to follow the crowd to the railway station on the sunny June afternoon.  His companions were two young fellows from the English bank and a rather agreeable attache of the French Government.

He saw the Princess for the first time that afternoon, and he was bowled over, to use the expression of his English friends with whom he dined that night.  She was the first woman that he had ever looked upon that he could describe, for she was the only one who had impressed him to that extent.  This is how he pictured her at the American legation in Paris a few weeks later: 

“Ever see her?  Well, you’ve something to live for, gentlemen.  I’ve seen her but three times and I don’t seem able to shake off the spell.  Her sisters, you know—­the married ones—­are nothing to look at, and the Grand Duke isn’t a beauty by any means.  How the deuce she happens to produce such a contrast I can’t, for the life of me, understand.  Nature does some marvellous things, by George, and she certainly spread herself on the Princess Genevra.  You’ve never seen such hair.  ’Gad, it’s as near like the kind that Henner painted as anything human could be, except that it’s more like old gold, if you can understand what I mean by that.  Not bronze, mind you, nor the raw red, but—­oh, well, I’m not a novelist, so I can’t half-way describe it.  She’s rather tall—­not too tall, mind you—­five feet five, I’d say—­whatever that is in the metric system.  Slender and well dressed—­oh, that’s the strangest thing of all!  Well dressed!  Think of a princess being well dressed!  I can see that you don’t believe me, but I’ll stake my word it’s true.  Of course, I’ve seen but three of her gowns and—­but that’s neither here nor there.  I’d say she’s