"And you—are not you a friend of King Karl?" she inquired of Trafford, while a new light shone in her eyes.
The American gave a furious twist to his moustache before answering.
"Mrs. Saunders, I believe, has recommended me as his Commander-in-Chief," he said with mock gravity, "but the appointment has not yet been confirmed. 'Till then my services are at the disposal of the highest bidder."
"My American friend's services are of problematic value," put in Saunders, recovering his temper. "He is an excellent skater, but a questionable general. He has had an exciting day and a superb dinner. With your permission I will take him back to his bed at the Hôtel Concordia."
The Princess had not taken her eyes off of the American since he had last spoken.
"He has energy," she mused, looking into space now, "also the capacity for inspiring enthusiasm, and I am not at all sure that he has not the instinct of a born tactician."
"But I am," Saunders broke in bluntly. "Princess, we have the honour of wishing you good-night!"
The Princess laid a delicate hand on the Englishman's arm.
"Herr Saunders," she said, "I will ask you to see me home."
Saunders shook his head.