“Forgot what?”

“The letter was written by a woman.  I remember when I was a boy,” went on the Chancellor tranquilly, “I used to take great pleasure in drawing pictures on frosted window panes.  Women always disturbed me.”

“Perhaps, Your Majesty,” said I, “it is possible that Her Highness . . . the likeness between her and her sister . . . perhaps, knowing that I have known Her Highness Phyllis . . . that is, the Princess Elizabeth . . . she may believe that I . . .”  It was very embarrassing.

“Continue,” said the King.  “And please make your sentences intelligible.”

“What I meant to say was that Her Highness the Princess Hildegarde, believes that I love her sister instead of herself . . .  I thought . . . she has written otherwise . . .”  And then I foundered again.

“Prince,” said the King, laughing in spite of his efforts to appear angry, “for pity’s sake, tell me what this man is talking about!”

“A woman,” said the Chancellor.  “Perhaps Her Highness the Princess Hildegarde. . . .  That is, I believe. . . .  She may love this man . . . perhaps thinking he loves the other. . .”  He was mocking me, and my face burned.

“Prince, do not confuse the man; he is bad enough as it is.”  The King smoothed away the remnant of the smile.

“Your Majesty is right,” said I, desperately.  “I am confused.  I know not what to say.”

“What would you do in my place?” asked the King of the Chancellor.

“I should say in an ominous voice, ’Young man, you may go; but if you ever enter our presence again without either one or the other of the Hohenphalian Princesses as your wife, we shall confiscate your property and put you in a dungeon for the remainder of your natural days.’  I put in the confiscation clause as a matter of form.  Have you any property?”

“What I have,” I answered, my confidence returning, “I can put in my pockets.”

“Good,” said the King.  “What the Chancellor says is but just.  See to it that his directions are followed.”

“Now, my King,” concluded the Chancellor, “put a medal on him and let him go.”

“In time,” replied the King.  “You may go, Herr Winthrop.”

“Go and scribble no more,” added the Chancellor.

I could hear them laughing as I made my escape from the room.  It could not be expected of me to join them.  And Gretchen was as far away as ever.  Phyllis love me?  It was absurd.  Gretchen had played me the fool.  She had been laughing at me all the time.  Yet, she had begged my life of the Prince, and on her knees.  Or, was it a lie of his?  Oh, it seemed to me that my brain would never become clear again.

In the afternoon at four I was ushered into the boudoir of Her Highness the Princess Elizabeth.  It was Phyllis no longer; Phyllis had passed; and I became conscious of a vague regret.

“I am glad,” she said, “that you were able to come.  I wanted to speak to you about—­about my sister.”