"What do you ask?" said I. In my agitation I was brief and blunt.
"Ask? Must I ask? Well, I ask that you should show somehow, how you will, that you trust us, that we are not outcasts, riff-raff, as Princess Heinrich calls us, lepers. Do it how you like, choose anybody you like from among us—I don't ask for any special person. Show that some one of us has your confidence. Why shouldn't you? The King should be above prejudice, and we're honest, some of us."
I tried to speak lightly, and smiled at her.
"You are all I love in the world, some of you," I said.
She sat down again in the little chair, and turned her face upward toward me.
"Then do it, Cæsar," she said very softly.
It had been announced a few days before that our ambassador at Paris had asked to be relieved of his post; there was already talk about his successor. Remembering this, I said, more in jest than seriousness:
"The Paris Embassy? Would that satisfy you?"
Her face became suddenly radiant, merry, and triumphant; she clapped her hands, and then held them clasped toward me.
"You suggested it yourself!" she cried.
"In joke!"
"Joke? I won't be joked with. I choose that you should be serious. You said the Paris Embassy! Are you afraid it'll make Hammerfeldt too angry? Fancy the Princess and your sister! How I shall love to see them!" She dropped her voice as she added, "Do it for me, Cæsar."
"Who should have it?"
"I don't care. Anybody, so long as he's one
