They reached the main gate and descended, Anguish securing his camera, after which they thanked the steward and turned to fee the guide.  But he had disappeared as if the ground had swallowed him.

“Well, it’s a fair Versailles,” observed Anguish, as they walked down the street, glancing back at the frowning wall.

“It all goes to make me wonder why in the name of heaven we have never heard of this land of Graustark,” said Lorry, still thinking of the castle’s grandeur.

“My boy, there are lots of things we don’t know.  We’re too busy.  Don’t you remember that but one-half the world knows how the other half lives?  I’ll wager there are not twenty-five people in the United States who know there is such a country as Graustark.”

“I don’t believe that a single soul over there has heard of the place,” vouchsafed Lorry, very truthfully.

“I’ll accept the amendment,” said Anguish.  Then he proceeded to take a snap-shot of the castle from the middle of the street.  He also secured a number of views of the mountain side, of some odd little dwelling houses, and two or three interesting exposures of red-robed children.  Everybody, from the children up, wore loose robes, some red, some black, some blue, but all in solid colors.  Beneath these robes were baggy trousers and blouses among the men, short skirts among the women.  All wore low boots and a sort of turban.  These costumes, of course, were confined to the native civilians.  At the hotel the garb of the aristocrats was vastly different.  The women were gowned after the latest Viennese patterns, and the men, except those of the army, wore clothes almost as smart as those which covered the Americans.  Miss Guggenslocker—­or whatever her name might be—­and her carriage companion were as exquisitely gowned as any women to be seen on the boulevards or in Hyde Park of an afternoon.

It was late in the afternoon when they returned to the hotel.  After dinner, during which they were again objects of interest, they strolled off towards the castle, smoking their cigars and enjoying the glorious air.  Being a stranger in a strange land, Lorry acted on the romantic painter’s advice and also stuck a revolver in his pocket.  He laughed at the suggestion tha there might be use for the weapon in such a quiet, model, well-regulated town, but Anguish insisted: 

“I’ve seen a lot of these fellows around town who look like genuine brigands and cutthroats, and I think it just as well that we be prepared,” asserted he, positively, and his friend gratified what he called a whim.