“Ha, ha! You mean me to understand that there’s no time to waste.”
“Not a moment.”
“What is the girl like?”
“Tall and slender, pink and white as a flower, dark-lashed and yellow-haired, like an Austrian beauty. Eyes gray or violet, it would be hard to say which, for a man of my years; but even I can assure you that when the lady looks down, then suddenly up again, under those dark lashes, it’s something to quicken the pulse of any man under sixty.”
“It would quicken mine only to hear your description, if you hadn’t just put a maggot in my head that tickles me to laughter instead of raptures,” said the Prince. “Tell me this; has this girl a tiny black mole just over the left eyebrow—very fetching;—and when she smiles, does her mouth point upward a bit on the right side, like a fairy sign-post showing the way to a small round scar, almost as good as a dimple?”
The Chancellor reflected for a few seconds, and then replied that, unless his eyesight and his memory had deceived him, both these marks were to be met with on Miss Mowbray’s face. He did not add that he had seen her but once, and at the time had not taken interest enough to note details; for it was plain that the Prince had a theory as to the lady’s real identity; and to establish it as a fact might be valuable.
“Is it possible that you’ve already met this dangerous young person?” he asked eagerly.
“Well, I begin to believe it may be so. I’ll explain why later; thereby hangs a confession. At all events, a certain lady exactly answering the description you’ve given, is very likely in this neighborhood; I’ve heard that she was shortly due in Kronburg, and it was in my mind when deciding suddenly to spend a few days in the woods for the sake of seeing you, that I might see her also before I went home again. As a matter of fact, the lady and I have had a misunderstanding, at a rather unfortunate moment, as I’d just imprudently taken her into my confidence concerning—er—some family affairs. If it is she who is masquerading in Rhaetia as Miss Mowbray, and turning your Emperor’s head, it may be that she’s trying to revenge herself on me. She’s pretty enough to beguile St. Anthony, let alone a St. Leopold; and she’s clever enough to have thought out such a scheme. Our small quarrel happened about four weeks ago, and I’ve lost sight of the lady since; she disappeared, expecting probably to be followed; but she wasn’t. The only question is, if she’s playing Miss Mowbray, where did she get the mother? I’ve heard there is a Mowbray-mother?”
“There’s a faded Dresden china shepherdess that answers to the name,” said the Chancellor, dryly. “But these mantelpiece ornaments are easily manufactured.”
The Prince was amused. “No, she wouldn’t stick at a mother, if she wanted one,” he chuckled. “And while she was about it, she has apparently annexed a whole family tree. The black mole, and the scar-dimple, you’re sure of them, Chancellor? Because, if you are—”