I remembered those days of long ago when we had wandered together in Kensington Gardens. How charming and ingenuous she was: how sweet and unaffected by worldly vanities, how trustful was that look when she gazed into my eyes! Her air was never that of the daughter of the reigning House of Hapsbourg-Lorraine. She had possessed all the enchantment of ideal grace without the dignity of rank, and it seemed incredible that she was actually a princess whose home was the most brilliant Court of Europe.
“I can quite understand your surprise,” observed the secretary. “But what is the nature of your business with Her Highness?”
“It is of a purely private nature.”
He glanced at the card. “The Archduchess does not receive callers,” he answered coldly.
“But at least you will give her my name, and tell her that I have something of urgent importance to communicate to her,” I cried eagerly.
He hesitated. “If you are, as you allege, an old friend, I will place your card before her,” he said at last, with some hesitation. “You may leave your address, and if Her Highness consents to receive you I will communicate with you.”
“No,” I answered in desperation; “I will remain and await her return.”
“That is impossible,” he responded. “She has many engagements, and certainly cannot receive you to-day.”
I recollected that the letter I had found at Denbury made it plain that we had parted abruptly. If this man gave her my card without any word, it was more than likely that she would refuse to see me.
Therefore I entered into argument with him, but while I was speaking the door opened suddenly, and my love stood before me.