court.

And this letter, like his sword, his Order of the Cincinnati, his
commissions and the miniature, has been the heritage of the eldest son.
In his soldier days his nearest comrade had been Armand, Marquis de la
Rouerie, and for him his first-born was christened; and hence my own
queer name--for an American: Armand Dalberg.

There was one of the traditions of our House that had been scrupulously
honored: there was always a Dalberg on the rolls of the Army; though
not always was it the head of the family, as in my case. For the rest,
we buried our royal descent. And though it was, naturally, well known
to my great-grandsire's friends and neighbors, yet, in the succeeding
generations, it has been forgotten and never had I heard it referred to
by a stranger.

Therefore, I was surprised and a trifle annoyed at Courtney's
discovery. Of course, it was possible that he had been attracted only
by my physical resemblance to the Third Henry and was not aware of the
relationship; but this was absurdly unlikely, Courtney was not one to
stop at half a truth and Dalberg was no common name. Doubtless the
picture had first put him on the track and after that the rest was
easy. What he did not know, however, but had been manoeuvring to
discover, was how far I was known at the Court of Valeria. Well, he
was welcome to what he had got.

Now, as a matter of fact, it was quite likely that the Dalbergs of
Dornlitz had totally forgotten the Dalbergs of America. Since
Frederick's minister had rumbled away from that mansion on the
Chesapeake, a century and more ago, there had been no word passed