In the barouche, leaning back among the black velvet cushions,
her face mellowed by the shade of a small parasol, was a young
woman of nineteen or twenty, as beautiful as a da Vinci freshly
conceived. The Englishman saw a pair of grave dark eyes which,
in the passing, met his and held them. He caught his breath.
"Who is that?" he asked.
"That is her Royal Highness the Crown Princess Alexia."
Afterward the Englishman remembered seeing a white dog lying on
the opposite seat.
CHAPTER IV
AN ADVENTURE WITH ROYALTY
Maurice Carewe, attached to the American legation in Vienna,
leaned against the stone parapet which separated the terraced
promenade of the Continental Hotel from the Werter See, and
wondered what had induced him to come to Bleiberg.
He had left behind him the glory of September in Vienna, a city
second only to Paris in fashion and gaiety; Vienna, with its
inimitable bands, its incomparable gardens, its military
maneuvers, its salons, its charming women; and all for a fool's
errand. His Excellency was to blame. He had casually dropped the
remark that the duchy's minister, Baron von Rumpf, had been
given his passports as a persona non grata by the chancellor of
the kingdom, and that a declaration of war was likely to follow.
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