the city gates, which in modern times were never closed. It traversed
the lumpy cobbles of the narrow streets, under hanging gables, past dim
little shops and markets, often unintentionally crowding pedestrians
into doorways or against the walls. One among those so inconvenienced
was a youth dressed as a vintner. He was tall, pliantly built, blond as
a Viking, possessing a singular beauty of the masculine order. He was
forced to flatten himself against the wall of a house, his arms extended
on either side, in a kind of temporary crucifixion. Even then the
stirrup of the American touched him slightly. But it was not the touch
of the stirrup that startled him; it was the dark, clean-cut face of the
rider. Once they were by, the youth darted into a doorway.

"He? What can he be doing here? No, it is utterly impossible; it is
merely a likeness."

He ventured forth presently, none of the perturbation, however, gone
from his face. He ran his hand across his chin; yes, he would let his
beard grow.

The duke and his escort turned into the broad and restful sweep of the
König Strasse, with its fashionable residences, shops, cafés and hotels.
At the end of the _Strasse_ was the Ehrenstein Platz, the great square
round which ran the palaces and the royal and public gardens. On the way
many times the duke raised his hand in salutations; for, while not
exactly loved, he was liked for his rare clean living, his sound sense
of justice and his honest efforts to do what was right. Opera-singers
came and went, but none had ever penetrated into the private suites of
the palace. The halt was made in the courtyard, and all dismounted.

The American thanked the duke gratefully for the use of the horse.