“Your Highness,” said I lowly, compelling her eyes to meet mine, “it is not the danger of the adventure or its results that I most fear.”  I was honest enough to make my meaning clear.

She blushed.  “I said that I trusted monsieur’s honor,” was her rejoinder.  “Come,” with a return of her imperiousness; “it is time that we were gone!” She drew on her cloak and dropped the veil.  “I might add,” she said, “that we will remain in France one hour.  From there you may go your way, and I shall go secretly to my palace.”

And the glamour fell away like the last leaves of the year.

I had to wake up the driver, who had fallen asleep.

“Where shall I say?” I asked.

“To your hotel.  I shall give the driver the remaining instructions.”

“But you haven’t told me,” said I, as I took my place in the carriage, “how I am to become a guest at the dinner to-morrow evening.”

“I spoke to the King this morning.  I said that I had a caprice.  He replied that if I would promise it to be my last he would grant it.  I promised.  I said that it was my desire to bring to the dinner a person who, though without rank, was a gentleman—­one who would grace any gathering, kingly or otherwise.  My word was sufficient.  I knew before I asked you that you would come.  Twenty-four hours from now we, that is, you and I, will be on the way to the French frontier.  I shall be ever in your debt.”

Silence fell upon us.  I knew that I loved her with a love that was burning me up, consuming me.  And the adventure was all so unheard of for these prosaic times!  And so full of the charm of mystery was she that I had not been a man not to have fallen a victim.  What possibilities suggested themselves to me as on we rode!  Once across the frontier I should be free to confess my love for her.  A Princess?  What of that?  She would be only a woman—­the woman I loved.  I trembled.  Something might happen so that she would have to turn to me.  If the King refused to forgive her, she was mine!  Ah, that plain carriage held a wonderful dream that night.  At length—­too shortly for me—­the vehicle drew up in front of my hotel.  As I was about to alight her hand stretched toward me.  But instead of kissing it, I pressed my lips on her round white arm.  As though my lips burned, she drew back.

“Have a care, monsieur; have a care,” she said, icily.  “Such a kiss has to be won.”

I stammered an apology and stepped out.  Then I heard a low laugh.

“Good night, Mr. Hillars; you are a brave gentleman!”

The door closed and the vehicle sped away into the darkness.

I stood looking after it, bewildered.  Her last words were spoken in pure English.