“Is General Russell crossing with us?” I asked carelessly.

Courtney shook his head.  “He is not going back to Valeria.”

“Oh!” said I, realizing suddenly my mistake, “I didn’t appreciate I was dining with an Ambassador.”

“It’s not yet announced.  However, I’m glad it does not change me,” he laughed.

“I can tell that better after we reach Valeria—­and you have danced with the Princess.”

He sipped his coffee meditatively.  “Yes, there may be changes in Valeria in us both,” he said presently.

“Don’t do the heavy reproof if I chance to forget the difference in our rank,” I answered.  “But you must manage one turn for me with Her Royal Highness, if you’re to eat my dinner, you know.”

“How many times have you been to Valeria?” he asked suddenly.

“Some half dozen,” I replied, surprised.

“Ever been in the private apartments of the Palace of Dornlitz?”

“No—­I think not.”

“I mean, particularly, the corridor where hang the portraits of the
Kings?”

“I don’t recall them.”

He laughed shortly.  “Believe me, you would recall them well,” he said.

“What the devil are you driving at?” I asked.

“I’ll show you the night you dance with the Princess.”

“A poor army officer doesn’t usually have such honors.”

“No—­not if he be only a poor army officer.  But, if he chance to be——­”

“Well,” I said, “be what?”

“I’ll tell you in the picture gallery,” he answered.

And not another word would he say in the matter.

II

CONCERNING ANCESTORS

However, I did not need to wait so long for my answer.  I knew it quite as well as Courtney—­maybe a trifle better.  Nevertheless, it is a bit jolting to realize, suddenly, that some one has been prying into your family history.

On the west wall of the Corridor of Kings, in the Palace of Dornlitz, hung the full-length portrait of Henry, third of the name and tenth of the Line.  A hundred and more years had passed since he went to his uncertain reward; and now, in me, his great-great-grandson, were his face and figure come back to earth.

I had said, truly enough, that I had never been in the Gallery of Kings.  But it was not necessary for me to go there to learn of this resemblance to my famous ancestor.  For, handed down from eldest son to eldest son, since the first Dalberg came to American shores, and, so, in my possession now, was an ivory miniature of the very portrait which Courtney had in mind.

And the way of it, and how I chanced to be of the blood royal of Valeria, was thus: 

Henry the Third—­he of the portrait—­had two sons, Frederick and Hugo, and one daughter, Adela.  Frederick, the elder son, in due time came to the throne and, dying, passed the title to his only child, Henry; who, in turn, was succeeded by his only child, Frederick, the present monarch.