The Princess Aline | Page 6

could not
have been born an approachable New York girl instead of a princess of
a little German duchy, hedged in throughout her single life, and to be
traded off eventually in marriage with as much consideration as though
she were a princess of a real kingdom.
"She looks jolly too," he mused, in an injured tone; "and so very clever;
and of course she has a beautiful complexion. All those German girls
have. Your Royal Highness is more than pretty," he said, bowing his
head gravely. "You look as a princess should look. I am sure it was one
of your ancestors who discovered the dried pea under a dozen
mattresses." He closed the paper, and sat for a moment with a
perplexed smile of consideration. "Waiter," he exclaimed, suddenly,
"send a messenger-boy to Brentano's for a copy of the St. James Budget,
and bring me the Almanach de Gotha from the library. It is a little fat
red book on the table near the window." Then Carlton opened the paper
again and propped it up against a carafe, and continued his critical
survey of the Princess Aline. He seized the Almanach, when it came,
with some eagerness.
"Hohenwald (Maison de Grasse)," he read, and in small type below it:
"1. Ligne cadette (regnante) grand-ducale: Hohenwald et de Grasse.
"Guillaume-Albert-Frederick-Charles-Louis, Grand-Duc de Hohenwald
et de Grasse, etc., etc., etc."

"That's the brother, right enough," muttered Carlton.
And under the heading "Soeurs" he read:
"4. Psse Aline.--Victoria-Beatrix-Louise-Helene, Alt. Gr.-Duc. Nee a
Grasse, Juin, 1872."
"Twenty-two years old," exclaimed Carlton. "What a perfect age! I
could not have invented a better one." He looked from the book to the
face before him. "Now, my dear young lady," he said, "I know all about
YOU. You live at Grasse, and you are connected, to judge by your
names, with all the English royalties; and very pretty names they are,
too--Aline, Helene, Victoria, Beatrix. You must be much more English
than you are German; and I suppose you live in a little old castle, and
your brother has a standing army of twelve men, and some day you are
to marry a Russian Grand-Duke, or whoever your brother's Prime
Minister if he has a Prime Minister-decides is best for the politics of
your little toy kingdom. Ah! to think," exclaimed Carlton, softly, "that
such a lovely and glorious creature as that should be sacrificed for so
insignificant a thing as the peace of Europe when she might make some
young man happy?"
He carried a copy of the paper to his room, and cut the picture of the
group out of the page and pasted it carefully on a stiff piece of
card-board. Then he placed it on his dressing-table, in front of a
photograph of a young woman in a large silver frame-which was a sign,
had the young woman but known it, that her reign for the time being
was over.
Nolan, the young Irishman who "did for" Carlton, knew better than to
move it when he found it there. He had learned to study his master
since he had joined him in London, and understood that one photograph
in the silver frame was entitled to more consideration than three others
on the writing-desk or half a dozen on the mantel-piece. Nolan had seen
them come and go; he had watched them rise and fall; he had carried
notes to them, and books and flowers; and had helped to dispose them
from the silver frame and move them on by degrees down the line, until
they went ingloriously into the big brass bowl on the side table. Nolan

approved highly of this last choice. He did not know which one of the
three in the group it might be; but they were all pretty, and their social
standing was certainly distinguished.
Guido, the Italian model who ruled over the studio, and Nolan were
busily packing when Carlton entered. He always said that Guido
represented him in his professional and Nolan in his social capacity.
Guido cleaned the brushes and purchased the artists' materials; Nolan
cleaned his riding-boots and bought his theatre and railroad tickets.
"Guido," said Carlton, "there are two sketches I made in Germany last
year, one of the Prime Minister, and one of Ludwig the actor; get them
out for me, will you, and pack them for shipping. Nolan," he went on,
"here is a telegram to send."
Nolan would not have read a letter, but he looked upon telegrams as
public documents, the reading of them as part of his perquisites. This
one was addressed to Oscar Von Holtz, First Secretary, German
Embassy, Washington, D.C., and the message read:
"Please telegraph me full title and address Princess Aline of Hohenwald.
Where would a letter reach her?
"MORTON CARLTON."
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