"Jean, Jean!" remonstrated Clara.

"Oh, Miss Vance! This is life and death to some of us!
What do they do?"

"Do?" said the man, staring. "What shall any gracious
lady do? They cook and brew, and crochet lace and----"

"Are there any more princesses--sisters of Furst Hugo?"

"Two more. They live in Munich. No, none of them are
married. Because," he added zealously, "there are no men
as high-born as our gracious ladies, so they cannot
marry."

"No doubt that accounts for it," said Jean. "Six. These
are `the channels into which the income will flow,' hey?"
She gave him more money, and marching into the station
caught Lucy by the shoulder, shaking her passionately.
"Do you think any American girl could stand that? How
would YOU like to be caged up in that ridiculous tower
to cook and crochet and brew beer and watch the train go
by for recreation? The year round--the year round?"

Lucy rose quietly. "The train is coming now," she said.
"Calm yourself, Jean. YOU will not have to live in the
tower."

Jean laughed. When they were seated in the car
again, she looked wistfully out at the heaps of ruins.