“Forgive me!” he cried, his eyes gleaming.  “I have been so lonely that I imagined all sorts of things.  But, your Highness, you must not expect us to remain here after I am able to leave.  That would be imposing—­”

“I will not allow you to say it!” she objected, decisively.  “You are the guest of honor in Graustark.  Have you not preserved its ruler?  Was it an imposition to risk your life to save one in whom you had but passing interest, even though she were a poor princess?  No, my American, this castle is yours, in all rejoicing, for had you not come within its doors to-day would have found it in mournful terror.  Besides, Mr. Anguish has said he will stay a year if we insist.”

“That’s like Harry,” laughed Lorry.  “But I am afraid you are glorifying two rattlebrained chaps who should be in a home for imbeciles instead of in the castle their audacity might have blighted.  Our rashness was only surpassed by our phenomenal good luck.  By chance it turned out well; there were ten thousand chances of ignominious failure.  Had we failed would we have been guests of honor?  No!  We would have been stoned from Graustark.  You don’t know how thin the thread was that held your fate.  It makes me shudder to think of the crime our act might have been.  Ah, had I but known you were the Princess, no chances should have been taken,” he said, fervently.

“And a romance spoiled,” she laughed.

“So you are a princess,—­a real princess,” he went on, as if he had not heard her.  “I knew it.  Something told me you were not an ordinary woman.”

“Oh, but I am a very ordinary woman,” she remonstrated.  “You do not know how easy it is to be a princess and a mere woman at the same time.  I have a heart, a head.  I breathe and eat and drink and sleep and love.  Is it not that way with other women?”

“You breathe and eat and drink and sleep and love in a different world, though, your Highness.”

“Ach! my little maid, Therese, sleeps as soundly, eats as heartily and loves as warmly as I, so a fig for your argument.”

“You may breathe the same air, but would you love the same man that your maid might love?”

“Is a man the only excuse for love? she asked.  “If so, then I must say that I breathe and eat and drink and sleep—­and that is all.”

“Pardon me, but some day you will find that love is a man, and” —­here he laughed—­“you will neither breathe, nor eat, nor sleep except with him in your heart.  Even a princess is mot proof against a man.”

“Is a man proof against a princess?’ she asked, as she leaned against the casement.

“It depends on the”—­he paused “the princess, I should say.”

“Alas!  There is one more fresh responsibility acquired.  It seems to me that everything depends on the princess,” she said, merrily.

“Not entirely,” he said, quickly.  “A great deal—­a very great deal—­depends on circumstances.  For instance, when you were Miss Guggenslocker it wouldn’t have been necessary for the man to be a prince, you know.”