Bederhof, and this gentleman was now my Chancellor and my chief official adviser. He was a portly man of about fifty, with red cheeks and black hair. He was high in favour with my mother, the husband of a buxom wife, and the father of nine children. As is not unusual in cases of hereditary succession, he was adequate to his office, although he would certainly not have been selected for it unless he had been his uncle's nephew; but, being the depositary of Hammerfeldt's traditions (although not of his brains), he contrived to pass muster. He came at this time to Artenberg, and urged on me the necessity of a speedy marriage.
"The recent danger, so providentially averted," he said, "is a stronger argument than any I could use."
"It certainly is," said I politely. As a fact, it might be stronger than any he would be likely to use, and yet not be impregnable.
"For the sake of your people, sire, do not delay."
"My dear Baron," said I, "send for the young lady to-morrow. I haven't seen her since she was a child, so let her bring a letter of identification."
"You joke!" said he. "There can be no doubt. Her parents will accompany her."
"True, true!" I exclaimed, in a tone of relief. "There will be really no substantial risk of having an impostor planted on us."
"I am confident," observed Bederhof, "that the marriage will be most happy."
"You are?"
"Undoubtedly, sire."
"Then we won't lose a moment," I cried.
Bederhof looked slightly puzzled, but also rather complimented. He cleared his throat (if only he
