occasion to reflect on it.  There!  I have been deceived—­deceived myself, let’s say.  Sharp methods play the devil with you now and then.  To speak the truth,—­perhaps you won’t care to listen to it,—­family arrangements are the best; take my word for it, they are the best.  And in the case of princesses of the Blood!—­Why, look you, I happen to be suitable.  It ’s a matter of chance, like your height, complexion, constitution.  One is just what one is born to be, eh?  You have your English notions, I my German; but as a man of the world in the bargain, and “gentleman,” I hope, I should say, that to take a young princess’s fancy, and drag her from her station is not—­of course, you know that the actual value of the title goes if she steps down?  Very well.  But enough said; I thought I was in a clear field.  We are used to having our way cleared for us, nous autres.  I will not detain you.’

We saluted gravely, and I rode on at a mechanical pace, discerning by glimpses the purport of what I had heard, without drawing warmth from it.  The man’s outrageously royal way of wooing, in contempt of minor presences and flimsy sentiment, made me jealous of him, notwithstanding his overthrow.

I was in the mood to fall entirely into my father’s hands, as I did by unbosoming myself to him for the first time since my heart had been under the charm.  Fresh from a rapid course of travel, and with the sense of laying the prince under weighty obligations, he made light of my perplexity, and at once delivered himself bluntly:  ’She plights her hand to you in the presence of our good Peterborough.’  His plans were shaped on the spot.  ’We start for England the day after to-morrow to urge on the suit, Richie.  Our Peterborough is up at the chateau.  The Frau Feldmarschall honours him with a farewell invitation:  you have a private interview with the princess at midnight in the library, where you are accustomed to read, as a student of books should, my boy at a touch of the bell, or mere opening of the door, I see that Peterborough comes to you.  It will not be a ceremony, but a binding of you both by your word of honour before a ghostly gentleman.’  He informed me that his foresight had enlisted and detained Peterborough for this particular moment and identical piece of duty, which seemed possible, and in a singular manner incited me to make use of Peterborough.  For the princess still denied me the look of love’s intelligence, she avoided me, she still kept to the riddle, and my delicacy went so far that I was restrained from writing.  I agreed with my father that we could not remain in Germany; but how could I quit the field and fly to England on such terms?  I composed the flattest letter ever written, requesting the princess to meet me about midnight in the library, that I might have the satisfaction of taking my leave of her; and this done, my spirits rose, and it struck me my father was practically wise, and I looked on Peterborough as an almost supernatural being.  If Ottilia refused to come, at least I should know my fate.  Was I not bound in manly honour to be to some degree adventurous?