"I'll take your word for it, Colonel!" cried the prince. "I said from the first that he wasn't bad-looking. Didn't I, Princess?" He then turned embarrassedly toward Max and timidly held out his hand. That was as near sentiment as ever the father and the son came, but it was genuine. "Ho, steward! Hans, you rascal, where are you?"
The steward presently entered, shading his eyes.
"Your Highness called?"
"That I did. That's Max come home!"
"Little Max?"
"Little Max. Now, candles, and march yourself to the packing-cellars. Off with you!" The happy old man slapped the duke on the shoulder. "I've an idea, Josef."
"What is it?" asked the duke, also very well pleased with events.
"I'll tell you all about it when we get into the cellar." But the nod toward the girl and the nod toward Max was a liberal education.
"I am pardoned?" said Arnheim.
"Pardoned? My boy, if I had an army I would make you a general!" roared the prince. "Come along, Josef. And you, Arnheim! You troopers, out of here, every one of you, and leave these two young persons alone!"