What was the use of being a princess if one was not allowed to act in a royal fashion? It wasn"t so terrible to wear men"s clothes, and, besides, they were very comfortable for riding a horse; and as for riding a bicycle in the public streets, hadn"t that ugly Italian d.u.c.h.ess ridden through the streets of Rome, and in knickerbockers, too?
n.o.body seemed to mind it there. But in Barscheit it had been little short of a crime. She recalled the flaming f.a.gots and the red-hot wire of her unfortunate wheel. A smile rippled over her face, but it pa.s.sed quickly. There was nothing left to smile over. They were going to force her to marry a tomb, a man in whom love and courage and joy were as dead things. Woe to Doppelkinn, though--woe to him! She would lead him a dance, wild and terrible.
If only she were Betty, free to do what she pleased, to go and come at will! She wasn"t born to be a princess; she wasn"t commonplace enough; she enjoyed life too well. Ah, if only she might live and act like those English cousins of hers with whom she went to school! _They_ could ride man-fashion, hunt man-fashion, shoot, play cards and bet at the races man-fashion, and n.o.body threatened them with Doppelkinns.
They might dance, too, till the sun came into the windows and the rouge on their faces cracked. But _she_! (I use the italics to ill.u.s.trate the decided nods of her pretty head.) Why, every sweet had to be stolen!
She would never marry Doppelkinn--never. She would never watch his old nose grow purple at the table. She would run away. And since Prince Charming was nowhere to be seen, it were better to die an old maid.
Presently the smithy came into view, emerging from a cl.u.s.ter of poplars. She rode up to the doors, dismounted and entered. Old Bauer himself was at the bellows, and the weird blue light hissing up from the blown coals discovered another customer. She turned and met his frank glance of admiration. (If she hadn"t turned! If his admiration hadn"t been entirely frank!) Instantly she sent Bauer a warning glance which that old worthy seemed immediately to understand. The stranger was tall, well-made, handsome, with yellow hair, and eyes as blue as the sky is when the west wind blows.
He raised his cap, and the heart of the girl fluttered. Wherever had this seemly fellow come from?
"Good morning," said the stranger courteously. "I see that you have had the same misfortune as myself."
"You have lost a shoe? Rather annoying, when one doesn"t want a single break in the going." She uttered the words carelessly, as if she wasn"t at all interested.
The stranger stuffed his cap into a pocket. She was glad that she had chosen the new saddle. The crest and coat of arms had not yet been burned upon the leather nor engraved upon the silver ornaments, and there was no blanket under the English saddle. There might be an adventure; one could not always tell. She must hide her ident.i.ty. If the stranger knew that she belonged to the House of Barscheit, possibly he would be frightened and take to his heels.
But the Princess Hildegarde did not know that this stranger never took to his heels; he wasn"t that kind. Princess or peasant, it would have been all the same to him. Only his tone might have lost half a key.
Bauer called to his a.s.sistant, and the girl stepped out into the road.
The stranger followed, as she knew he would. It will be seen that she knew something of men, if only that they possess curiosity.
"What a beautiful place this is!" the stranger ventured, waving his hand toward the still lake and the silent, misty mountains.
"There is no place quite like it," she admitted. "You are a stranger in Barscheit?"--politely. He was young and certainly the best-looking man she had seen in a month of moons. If Doppelkinn, now, were only more after this pattern!
"Yes, this is my first trip to Barscheit." He had a very engaging smile.
"You are from Vienna?"
"No."
"Ah, from Berlin. I was not quite sure of the accent."
"I am a German-American,"--frankly. "I have always spoken the language as if it were my own, which doubtless it is."
"America!" she cried, her interest genuinely aroused. "That is the country where every one does just as he pleases."
"Sometimes." (What beautiful teeth she had, white as skimmed milk!)
"They are free?"
"Nearly always."
"They tell me that women there are all queens."
"We are there, or here, always your humble servants."
He was evidently a gentleman; there was something in his bow that was courtly. "And do the women attend the theaters alone at night?"
"If they desire to."
"Tell me, does the daughter of the president have just as much liberty as her subjects?"
"Even more. Only, there are no subjects in America."
"No subjects? What do they call them, then?"
"Voters."
"And do the women vote?"
"Only at the women"s clubs."
She did not quite get this; not that it was too subtle, rather that it was not within her comprehension.
"It is a big country?"
"Ever so big."
"Do you like it?"
"I love every inch of it. I have even fought for it."
"In the Spanish War?"--visibly excited.
"Yes."
"Were you a major or a colonel?"
"Neither; only a private."
"I thought every soldier there was either a colonel or a major."
He looked at her sharply, but her eye was roving. He became suspicious. She might be simple, and then again she mightn"t. She was worth studying, anyhow.
"I was a cavalryman, with nothing to do but obey orders and, when ordered, fight. I am visiting the American consul here; he was a school-mate of mine."
"Ah! I thought I recognized the horse."
"You know him?"--quickly.
"Oh,"--casually,--"every one hereabouts has seen the consul on his morning rides. He rides like a centaur, they say; but I have never seen a centaur."
The stranger laughed. She was charming.
"He ought to ride well; I taught him." But the gay smile which followed this statement robbed it of its air of conceit. "You see, I have ridden part of my life on the great plains of the West, and have mounted everything from a wild Indian pony to an English thoroughbred.
My name is Max Scharfenstein, and I am here as a medical student, though in my own country I have the right to hang out a physician"s shingle."