Kargovitch strolled down to the hotel office, paid his bill, and walked out into the streets of Demia. There he bought a late afternoon paper in which appeared a carefully censored account of the visit of Crown Prince Boris of Karlova to the court of Alexis III. The article closed with the statement that "it is understood that Prince Boris will return to Sovgrad tonight following the banquet which the king is giving in his honor at the summer palace at Klovia."

There was no reference to the Princess Mary, or to the alliance between the two royal houses. In another column a few lines were devoted to the arrival of the wife and daughter of the famous American mufti-millionaire, Abner J. Bass. M. Kargovitch was not the only person to read this latter item with interest. Princess Mary of Margoth saw it, and gave a little exclamation of surprise and delight, for she had known Gwendolyn Bass well at the select American boarding school to which the little princess had been sent at the instigation of Stroebel. The royal guest of Alexis III saw it, and licked his lips sorrowfully at the thought that he was a prince and not a bandit-what a rich haul would be the wife and daughter of an American millionaire!

"Stefan," called Princess Mary as the machine rolled from the palace grounds, "the Hotel Royal first."

Carlotta asked questions and interposed objections, saying that they surely would be recognized; but Mary, accustomed to having her own way, overruled them all.

"I want to see Gwendolyn Bass," she announced. "She knows me only as Mary Banatoff, so she couldn't, expose me even if she would. When I enter the hotel I'll draw my veil. It'll be safe enough."

When the car drew up before the hotel the two alighted and entered. At the office they obtained the number of the Bass suite, and saying that they were old friends, took the elevator and ascended without being announced.

A maid admitted them, and as Princess Mary stepped into the room and threw back her veil Gwendolyn Bass gave a little cry of astonished pleasure as she ran forward to greet her friend.

For half an hour the two girls chattered on as fast as their tongues would go. Mary Banatoff was "so sorry that you are not going to be in Demia longer, and next time be sure to let me know; and Mrs. Bass you must be very brave to travel the Roman road into Sovgrad at night, with The Rider abroad. He is a frightful wretch. Have your chauffeur drive at top speed after you pass the border."

While they talked Stefan sat rigidly in the driver's seat of the waiting car. A horseman rode up from behind and at sight of the car drew rein. Then he approached close to Stefan's side.

"Whose car is this?" he asked.

Stefan looked up to see a tall military figure bending toward him. The man was not in uniform and Stefan did not recognize him; but Stefan had a guilty conscience because he knew that the excursion of his young mistress was entirely irregular. He hesitated.

"I asked," said the stranger, "whose car this is. Does it belong to the Americans by the name of Bass who are travelling to Sovgrad tonight?"

Stefan grasped at the suggested straw.

"Yes, monsieur," he replied, "it is the Bass car."

"And are you leaving at once?"

"Yes, monsieur." Stefan could have strangled the man for his impudence. The very idea of questioning him, Stefan, the royal chauffeur, in this familiar manner!

"Good," said the stranger, and rode on leaving Stefan sputtering ragefully.

Slowly he turned the next corner, and when out of sight of Stefan spurred his horse into a trot. At the end of the city street, where it broke into the open country and the Roman road, the trot was quickened to a gallop.

"I'll never make it," muttered the rider. "What the devil are they leaving so early for? Well, I suppose one place is as good as another; but I should have preferred Karlovian territory-it might raise the devil should I happen to be caught in Margoth."

At about the same time Mary Banatoff bade farewell to her American friend and descended with the faithful Carlotta to the waiting car.

"Drive slowly, Stefan," she said, "for the night is beautiful. I am going to Vitza."

"Yes, Your Highness," replied Stefan.

"S-s-sh!" cautioned the princess, "someone might hear you."

"Yes, Your Highness," said Stefan.

Princess Mary sank back into the cushions of the tonneau with a smile and a sigh of resignation.

"The safest thing, Carlotta," she said, "is not to speak to Stefan at all."

The road to Vitza leaves the Roman road about ten miles west of Demia, and runs north through the mountains for another ten miles to the favorite palace of the king of Margoth. Stefan drove slowly as he had been instructed. The moon shown brilliantly down from a cloudless sky, and Princess Mary was enjoying to the full every moment of her adventure. She would remain in Vitza for a few days until the king's anger had blown over, as it always did blow over when the Princess Mary transgressed. Then she would come back and forgive her father, and everything would be as it had been before.