"Is he dead?" she asked, all the bitterness in her heart surging to her
lips.
"To Barscheit,"--briefly. "Now, what shall I do with this?"--tapping
the bogus certificate.
"Give it to me," said the girl wearily. She ripped it into halves,
into quarters, into infinitesimal squares, and tossed them into the
waste-basket. "I am the unhappiest girl in the world."
"I am sorry," replied the grand duke. "It isn't as if I had forced
Doppelkinn on you without first letting you have your choice. You have
rejected the princes of a dozen wealthy countries. We are not as the
common people; we can not marry where we will. I shall announce that
the marriage will take place next week."
"Do not send my friend away," she pleaded, apparently tamed.
"I will promise to give the matter thought. Good night."
She turned away without a word and left him. When he roared at her she
knew by experience that he was harmless; but this quiet determination
meant the exclusion of any further argument. There was no escape
unless she ran away. She wept on her pillow that night, not so much at
the thought of wedding Doppelkinn as at the fact that Prince Charming
had evidently missed the last train and was never coming to wake her
up, or, if he did come, it would be when it was too late. How many
times had she conjured him up, as she rode in the fresh fairness of the
mornings! How manly he was and how his voice thrilled her! Her horse
was suddenly to run away, he was to rescue her, and then demand her
hand in marriage as a fitting reward. Sometimes he had black hair and
eyes, but more often he was big and tall, with yellow hair and the
bluest eyes in all the world.