"Not exactly a proposal, but I'll make you a proposition," he said in a voice typically American in its business-like tone.
They had entered a narrow side street, and the driver was pulling up his horse before a disreputable-looking wine shop. Dismissing the sleigh the Princess led the way into the building through a low, malodorous room—where a number of men were swilling beery smoking, and playing dominoes—and penetrated to inner chamber.
"And is this your home?" inquired Trafford.
"One of them," was the reply. "An outlaw must sleep where she can—it's wise to vary one's abode."
An old man in shirt-sleeves and apron entered the room and demanded their pleasure.
"We want nothing except solitude," said the Princess. "May we have that, Herr Krantz?"
"Most certainly, your High——, gracious lady. You will not be interrupted unless——"
"Thanks, good Herr Krantz, I understand."
The old landlord inclined his bald head and quitted the shabby apartment. The Princess motioned to her companion to be seated, pointing to a chair at a small table, then taking a seat opposite him, she rested her pretty head on her hands, her elbows resting on the table, and surprised him by suddenly popping out:
"And now about that proposition of yours——"