"When he recognizes who wishes to see him he will fully understand," she said, in a quiet, refined voice. "A letter addressed to Julie de Rouville at the Post Restante at Marseilles will quickly find me."
"At Marseilles?" I echoed.
"Yes. I do not wish the letter to be sent to me here. From Marseilles I shall duly receive it."
I was silent for a few moments.
"I confess," I exclaimed at last. "I confess I do not exactly see the necessity for an interview with His Highness, when whatever you tell me—as his personal-adjutant—will be regarded as strictly in confidence."
Truth to tell, I was extremely suspicious of her. She might be desirous of meeting the Prince with some evil intent.
"I have already said, Count Heltzendorff, that I am His Highness's friend, and wish to approach him with motives of friendship."
"You wish for no payment for this information, eh?" I asked suspiciously, half believing that she might be a secret agent of France.
"Payment—of course not!" she answered, half indignantly. "Show that photograph to the Crown-Prince, and tell him that I apply for an interview."
Then, rather abruptly, she rose, and, thanking me, wished me good afternoon, and walked away, leaving me with her photograph in my hand.