"Yes." The Prince strode rapidly forward and grasped her by the wrist,
his brow dark with a forbidding frown. He spoke in a hoarse whisper:

"Listen, my good girl! Do you want to get more money from me than you
will get from the Princess in ten years' service? Hearken, then, to what
I tell you. If there are any letters from--from--men, will you bring
them to me?"

Miss Baxter was thoroughly frightened, but she said to the Prince
sharply,--

"If you do not let go my wrist, I'll scream. How dare you lay your hand
on me?"

The Prince released her wrist and stepped back.

"Forgive me," he said; "I'm a very miserable man. Forget what I have
said."

"How can I forget it?" cried the girl, gathering courage as she saw him
quail before her blazing eyes. "What do you want me to do?"

"I want you to bring to me any letters written by--by----"

"Written by von Schaumberg," cried the girl, noticing his hesitation and
filling in the blank.

A red wave of anger surged up in the Prince's face.

"Yes," he cried; "bring me a letter to her from von Schaumberg, and I'll