Then he arose abruptly and, crossing to a large vault built in a far corner, returned with a heavy black box curiously bound with brass and inlaid with silver.  Placing it on the table between us, he took from his watch chain a small antique key and pushing it, with a queer side-motion, into the lock, it opened with a sharp snap, and he threw back the lid.

“I wonder,” said he, as he lifted out a thick leather-covered book with heavy metal hinges, “if there are many Americans whom it would be so difficult to persuade to accept a royal title?”

“I fancy it would be much the same with all the truly representative old American families,” said I.

He shrugged his shoulders.  “Then, for the credit of America, it’s a pity Europe does not know some of those same old families; if they are the Country’s true Nobility.”

“Yes, but not Nobility on European lines,” said I.  “They are the worthy descendants of those who founded the Nation; and the proudest patent is a commission from King or Colony or from the Continental Congress in the Revolution.”

The King smiled.  “Isn’t that every Nation’s Nobility—­the descendants of the officers who helped their chief to establish a kingdom?”

“It may be so,” I answered; “but the systems are wide apart.  You will observe, I said the worthy descendants.  In America it needs manhood as well as birthright—­gentle living as well as gentle blood.”

“While with us it needs only gentle blood, you mean?” said Frederick, good naturedly.  “Well, we shall not argue over the matter; and, particularly, since the Dalbergs have no fault to find with their representative among the American Nobility; it’s rather he who is ashamed of his Valerian relatives.”

“I am quite satisfied with the two I’ve met,” I protested.

“So well, indeed, with one of them that you kissed her instantly,” the King laughed.

“And am glad, now, I did it.  I shall never have another chance.”

He shot a quick glance at me, as he opened the book and began to turn the heavy parchment pages, which I could see were illumined in beautiful colors and with strange, large lettering.  Presently, these ended and the characters seemed to be in ancient script, which, gradually grew more modern.  At one of these later pages, the King stopped and addressed me: 

“You have said that, unless Hugo’s rights and the Dalberg legitimacy of his descendants were preserved, by special Decree, made during Hugo’s life, you would decline to return to Court.”  He paused a moment, then went on:  “It would almost seem that old Henry had some presentiment of a certain stubborn-minded grandchild, for he provided for just such a condition as you have made.  This book is the Laws of the House of Dalberg.  Listen to what is written touching Hugo, son of Henry the Third.”

Instinctively, I arose and stood at attention.