It was a fine bright morning when I walked, unattended, to the princess' house, carrying a nosegay in my hand. Policy made excuses for love, and every attention that I paid her, while it riveted my own chains, bound closer to me the people of the great city, who worshiped her. I found Fritz's inamorata, the Countess Helga, gathering blooms in the garden for her mistress' wear, and prevailed on her to take mine in their place. The girl was rosy with happiness, for Fritz, in his turn, had not wasted his evening, and no dark shadow hung over his wooing, save the hatred which the Duke of Strelsau was known to bear him.
"And that," she said, with a mischievous smile, "your Majesty has made of no moment. Yes I will take the flowers; shall I tell you, sire, what is the first thing the princess does with them?"
We were talking on a broad terrace that ran along the back of the house, and a window above our heads stood open.
"Madame!" cried the countess merrily, and Flavia herself looked out. I bared my head and
