Miss Baxter found life at the Schloss much different from what she had
expected. The Princess was a young and charming lady, very handsome, but
in a state of constant depression. Once or twice Miss Baxter came upon
her with apparent traces of weeping on her face. The Prince was not
an old man, as she had imagined, but young and of a manly, stalwart
appearance. He evidently possessed a fiendish temper, and moped about
the castle with a constant frown upon his brow.

The correspondence of the Princess was in the utmost disorder. There
were hundreds upon hundreds of letters, and Miss Baxter set to work
tabulating and arranging them. Meanwhile the young newspaper woman kept
her eyes open. She wandered about the castle unmolested, poked into odd
corners, talked with the servants, and, in fact, with everyone, but
never did she come upon a clue which promised to lead to a solution of
the diamond difficulty. Once she penetrated into a turret room, and
came unexpectedly upon the Prince, who was sitting on the window-ledge,
looking absently out on the broad and smiling valley that lay for miles
below the castle. He sprang to his feet and stared so fiercely at the
intruder that the girl's heart failed her, and she had not even the
presence of mind to turn and run.

"What do you want?" he said to her shortly, for he spoke English
perfectly. "You are the young woman from Chicago, I suppose?"

"No," answered Miss Baxter, forgetting for the moment the _role_ she was
playing; "I am from London."

"Well, it doesn't matter; you are the young woman who is arranging my
wife's correspondence?"