“She did come; she is in Boston, at the hotel.”
“We will go and see her,” said Gertrude, looking at him.
“She begs you will not!” the young man replied. “She sends you her love; she sent me to announce her. She will come and pay her respects to your father.”
Gertrude felt herself trembling again. A Baroness Münster, who sent a brilliant young man to “announce” her; who was coming, as the Queen of Sheba came to Solomon, to pay her “respects” to quiet Mr. Wentworth—such a personage presented herself to Gertrude’s vision with a most effective unexpectedness. For a moment she hardly knew what to say. “When will she come?” she asked at last.
“As soon as you will allow her—tomorrow. She is very impatient,” answered Felix, who wished to be agreeable.
“Tomorrow, yes,” said Gertrude. She wished to ask more about her; but she hardly knew what could be predicated of a Baroness Münster. “Is she—is she—married?”
Felix had finished his cake and wine; he got up, fixing upon the young girl his bright, expressive eyes. “She is married to a German prince—Prince Adolf, of Silberstadt-Schreckenstein. He is not the reigning prince; he is a younger brother.”
Gertrude gazed at her informant; her lips were slightly parted. “Is she a—a Princess?” she asked at last.
“Oh, no,” said the young man; “her position is rather a singular one. It’s a morganatic marriage.”
“Morganatic?” These were new names and new words to poor Gertrude.