“We shall continue to speak in French,” she said, as she threw back her cloak and lifted her veil.  “Monsieur has probably heard that the Princess Hildegarde is a creature of extravagant caprices; and he expects an escapade.”

“Your Highness wrongs me,” I protested.  “I am an obscure American; your Highness does not share your—­that is——­”

I stopped, not wishing to give the term escapade to anything she might do.  As a matter of fact she has caused her royal guardian, the King, no end of trouble.  She went to Paris once unattended; at another time she roamed around Heidelberg and slashed a fencing master; she had donned a student’s garb.  She is said to be the finest swordswoman on the Continent.  Yet, notwithstanding her caprices, she is a noble-minded woman.  She does all these things called social vagaries because she has a fine scorn for the innate hypocrisy of the social organization of this country.  She loves freedom not wisely but too well.  To go on: 

“Monsieur wrongs me also,” she said.  “In what are termed my escapades I am alone.  You appealed to me,” with a directness which amazed me, “because of your handsome face, your elegant form, your bright eyes.  You are a man who loves adventure which has the spice of danger in it.  My countrymen——.”  She crooked one of her bare shoulders, which shone like yellow ivory in the subdued light.  This rank flattery cooled me.  A woman who has any regard for a man is not likely to flatter him in respect to his looks on so short and slight an acquaintance.  “Monsieur,” she proceeded, “this is to be no escapade, no caprice.  I ask your aid as a desperate woman.  At court I can find no one to succor me, save at the peril of that which is dearer to me than my life.  Among the commoners, who would dare?  An Englishman?  It is too much trouble.  A Frenchman?  I would trust him not quite so far as the door.  You are the first American, not connected with the legation, I have ever met.  Will you help me?”

“If what you ask me to do is within my capabilities, I am yours to command.”

“The reward will be small,” as if to try me.  I laughed.  I was so insanely happy, I suppose.  “There will be danger,” she persisted; “secret danger:  there will be scandal.”

“The more danger, the merrier,” I cried.

“Ah, yes,” smiling; “it is the man of Balkistan.”

I leaned over the table and inhaled the ineffable perfumes which emanated from her person.  “Tell me, from what must I succor the Princess?  Is she a prisoner in a castle over which some ogre rules?  Well, then, I’ll be Sir Galahad.”

My jesting tone jarred on her nerves.  She straightened in her chair.

“Monsieur is amused,” she said coldly.

“And he asks a thousand pardons!” I cried contritely.  “Command me,” and I grew chilled and serious.

“You have heard that I am to wed Prince Ernst of Wortumborg?”