"It is well. Let us proceed at once to conclude the matter in hand,"
she said.

"Wholly at your service!"

(Hang the fellow's impudence! How dared he use that jovial tone?)

I heard the crackle of parchment. The certificate was being unfolded.
(It occurred to me that while she was about it the princess might just
as well have forged the rascal's name and wholly dispensed with his
services. The whole affair struck me as being ineffective; nothing
would come of it. If she tried to make the duke believe that she had
married Steinbock, her uncle would probe the matter to the bottom, and
in the end cover her with ridicule. But you can not tell a young woman
anything, when she is a princess and in the habit of having her own
way. It is remarkable how stupid clever women can be at times. The
Honorable Betty understood, but her Highness would not be convinced.
Thus she suffered this needless affront. Pardon this parenthesis, but
when one talks from behind a curtain the parenthesis is the only
available thing.) There was silence. I saw Steinbock poise the pen,
then scribble on the parchment. It was done. I stirred restlessly.

"There!" cried Steinbock. His voice did not lack a certain triumph.
"And now for the duplicate!"

Her Highness stuffed the document into the bosom of her dress. "There
will be no duplicate." The frigidity of her tones would have congealed
the blood of an ordinary rascal. But Steinbock was not ordinary.

"But suppose the duke comes to me for verification?" he reasoned.