The three were silent for a moment.  A breeze, sweet with pine-scent of the hills, swept the valley, taking tribute of the gardens as it passed.  The Baron was afraid to venture his last request.

“But the name—­the honored name of the greatest statesman Austria has known—­a name that will endure with the greatest names of Europe—­surely you can at least accept that.”

The Ambassador’s tone was as gravely importunate as though he were begging the cession of a city from a harsh conqueror.  Armitage rose and walked the length of the veranda.  He had not seen Shirley since that morning when the earth had slipped from under his feet at the bungalow.  The Claibornes had been back and forth often between Washington and Storm Springs.  The Judge had just been appointed a member of the Brazilian boundary commission which was to meet shortly in Berlin, and Mrs. Claiborne and Shirley were to go with him.  In the Claiborne garden, beyond and below, he saw a flash of white here and there among the dark green hedges.  He paused, leaned against a pillar, and waited until Shirley crossed one of the walks and passed slowly on, intent upon the rose trees; and he saw—­or thought he saw—­the sun searching out the gold in her brown hair.  She was hatless.  Her white gown emphasized the straight line of her figure.  She paused to ponder some new arrangement of a line of hydrangeas, and he caught a glimpse of her against a pillar of crimson ramblers.  Then he went back to the Baron.

“How much of our row in the hills got into the newspapers?” he asked, sitting down.

“Nothing,—­absolutely nothing.  The presence of the Sophia Margaret off the capes caused inquiries to be made at the embassy, and several correspondents came down here to interview me.  Then the revenue officers made some raids in the hills opportunely and created a local diversion.  You were hurt while cleaning your gun,—­please do not forget that!—­and you are a friend of my family,—­a very eccentric character, who has chosen to live in the wilderness.”

The Judge and Armitage laughed at these explanations, though there was a little constraint upon them all.  The Baron’s question was still unanswered.

“You ceased to be of particular interest some time ago.  While you were sick the fraudulent Von Kissel was arrested in Australia, and I believe some of the newspapers apologized to you handsomely.”

“That was very generous of them;” and Armitage shifted his position slightly.  A white skirt had flashed again in the Claiborne garden and he was trying to follow it.  At the same time there were questions he wished to ask and have answered.  The Baroness von Marhof had already gone to Newport; the Baron lingered merely out of good feeling toward Armitage—­for it was as Armitage that he was still known to the people of Storm Springs, to the doctor and nurses who tended him.

“The news from Vienna seems tranquil enough,” remarked Armitage.  He had not yet answered the Baron’s question, and the old gentleman grew restless at the delay.  “I read in the Neue Freie Presse a while ago that Charles Louis is showing an unexpected capacity for affairs.  It is reported, too, that an heir is in prospect.  The Winkelried conspiracy is only a bad dream and we may safely turn to other affairs.”