A DELICATE DUTY
"Marrying her?" cried the King; his face turned red, and then, as the blood ebbed again, became very pale.
"That's what she means—yes, and what he means, too!"
The King was aghast. The second assault struck home—struck at his dearest hopes and wounded his most intimate ambitions. But he was still incredulous. He spread out trembling hands, turning from the vehement woman to his two counsellors.
"Gentlemen!" he said, imploringly, with outstretched hands.
They were silent—grave and silent.
"Captain Markart, you you saw anything to suggest—this this terrible idea?"
The fire was hot on poor Markart again. He stammered and stuttered.
"The—the Baroness seemed to have much influence, sir; to—to hold a very high position in the Prince's regard; to—to be in his confidence—"
"Yes!" struck in the Countess. "She wears the uniform of his artillery! Isn't that a compliment usually reserved for ladies of royal rank? I appeal to you, Colonel Stafnitz!"
"In most services it is so, I believe, Countess," the Colonel answered gravely.
"But I should never allow it and without my consent"
"It might be invalid, sir, though there's some doubt about that. But it would be a fatal bar to our German project. Even an influence short of actual marriage—"
"She means marriage, I say, marriage!" The Countess was quite rudely impatient of her ally—Which was very artistic. "An ambitious and dan-
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