“The greatest sorrow Graustark has ever known grows out of that decision.  She is determined to save for us what her father’s folly lost.  To do this she becomes the bride of a vile wretch, a man who soils her pure nature when he thinks of her.  Oh, we sought to dissuade her,—­we begged, we entreated, but without avail.  She will not sacrifice one foot of Graustark to save herself.  See the triumphant smiles on their faces—­the brutes!” She pointed maliciously to the chattering visitors in the hall.  “Already they think the castle theirs.  The union of Graustark and Axphain!  Just what they most desired, but we could not make her see it so.”

“Is the day set?” asked Lorry, bravely, after a moments silent inspection of the dark-browed victors.

“Yes, and there is to be no delay.  The marriage contract has already been signed.  The date is November 20th, the day on which we are to account to Bolaroz for our war debt.

“The old Prince’s wedding gift to Graustark is to be a document favoring us with a ten years’ extension,” she said, scornfully.

“And where is she to live?”

“Here, of course.  She is Graustark’s ruler, and here she insists on abiding.  Just contemplate our court!  Over-run with those Axphain dogs!  Ah, she has wounded Graustark more than she has helped her.”

There was nothing more to be said or done, so, after a few moments, the Americans took their departure.  The Countess bade them farewell, saying that she must return to the Princess.

“I’ll see you to-morrow,” said Anguish, with rare assurance and the air of an old and indispensable friend.

“And you, Mr. Lorry?” she said, curiously.

“I am very much occupied,” he mumbled.

“You do wrong in seeking to deceive me,” she whispered, as Anguish passed through the door ahead of them.  “I know why you do not come.”

“Has she told you?”

“I have guessed.  Would that it could have been you and not the other.”

“One cannot be a man and a prince at the same time, I fancy,” he said, bitterly.

“Nor can one be a princess and a woman.”  Lorry recalled the conversation in the sickroom two weeks before and smiled ironically.  The friendly girl left them at the door and they passed out of the castle.

“I shall leave Edelweiss to-morrow,” said one, more to himself than to his companion, as they crossed the parade.  The other gave a start and did not look pleased.  Then he instinctively glanced toward the castle.

“The Princess is at her window,” he cried, clutching Lorry’s arm and pointing back.  But the other refused to turn, walking on blindly.  “You ought not to have acted like that, Gren,” said Anguish, a few moments later.  “She saw me call your attention to her, and she saw you refuse to look back.  I don’t think that you should have hurt her.”  Lorry did not respond, and there was no word between them until they were outside the castle gates.