"Princess," he said in a refined voice, "I desire most humbly to apologise for making myself known to you, but it is unfortunately necessary."

"Unfortunately?" she echoed. "Why unfortunately, Mr. Bourne, when you risked your life for mine? At that moment you only saw a woman in grave peril; you were not aware of my station."

"That is perfectly true," he said quietly. "When they told me at the hospital who you were, and when you sent me those lovely flowers and fruit, I was filled with--well, with shame."

"Why with shame?" she asked. "You surely had no need to be ashamed of your action? On the contrary, the King's intention was to decorate you on account of your brave action, and had already given orders for a letter to be sent to your own King in London, asking his Majesty to allow you as a British subject to receive and wear the insignia of the Order of the Crown and Sword."

"And I escaped from Treysa just in time," he laughed. Then he added, "To tell you the truth, Princess, it is very fortunate that I left before--well, before you could see me, and before his Majesty could confer the decoration."

"But why?" she asked. "I must confess that your action in escaping as you did entirely mystified me."

"You were annoyed that I was ungentlemanly enough to run away without thanking your Highness for all your solicitude on my behalf, and for sending the surgeon of the royal household to attend to my injuries.

But, believe me, I am most deeply and sincerely grateful. It was not ingrat.i.tude which caused me to leave Treysa in secret as I did, but my flight was necessary."

"Necessary? I don't understand you."

"Well, I had a motive in leaving without telling any one."

"Ah, a private motive!" she said--"something concerning your own private affairs, I suppose?"

He nodded in the affirmative. How could he tell her the truth?

His disinclination to explain the reason puzzled her sorely. That he was a gallant man who had saved a woman without thought of praise or of reward was proved beyond doubt, yet there was something curiously mysterious about him which attracted her. Other men would have at least been proud to receive the thanks and decoration of a reigning sovereign, while he had utterly ignored them. Was he an anarchist?

"Princess," he said at last, rising from his chair and flushing slightly, "the reason I have sought you to-day is not because of the past, but is on account of the present."

"The present! why?"

"I--I hardly know what to say, Princess," he said confusedly. "Two years ago I fled from you because you should not know the truth--because I was in fear. And now Fate brings me again in your path in a manner which condemns me."

"Mr. Bourne, why don't you speak more plainly? These enigmas I really cannot understand. You saved my life, or at least saved me from a very serious accident, and yet you escaped before I could thank you personally. To-day you have met me, and you tell me that you escaped because you feared to meet me."

"It is the truth, your Highness. I feared to meet you," he said, "and, believe me, I should not have sought you to-day were it not of most urgent necessity."

"But why did you fear to meet me?"

"I did not wish you to discover what I really am," he said, his face flushing with shame.

"Are you so very timid?" she asked with a light laugh.

But in an instant she grew serious. She saw that she had approached some sore subject, and regretted. The Englishman was a strange person, to say the least, she thought.

"I have nothing to say in self-defence, Princess," he said very simply.

"The trammels of our narrow world are so hypocritical, our laws so farcical and full of incongruities, and our civilisation so fraught with the snortings of Mother Grundy, that I can only tell you the truth and offer no defence. I know from the newspapers of your present perilous position, and of what is said against you. If you will permit me to say so, you have all my sympathy." And he paused and looked straight into her face, while little Ignatia gazed at him in wonder.

"I wonder if your Highness will forgive me if I tell you the truth?" he went on, as though speaking to himself.

"Forgive you? Why, of course," she laughed. "What is there to forgive?"

"Very much, Princess," he said gravely. "I--I'm ashamed to stand here before you and confess; yet I beg of you to forgive me, and to accept my declaration that the fault is not entirely my own."

"The fault of what?" she inquired, not understanding him.

"I will speak plainly, because I know that your good nature and your self-avowed indebtedness to me--little as that indebtedness is--will not allow you to betray me," he said in a low, earnest tone. "You will recollect that on your Highness's arrival at the Gare de l'Est your dressing-bag was stolen, and within it were your jewels--your most precious possession at this critical moment of your life?"

"Yes," she said in a hard voice of surprise, her brows contracting, for she was not yet satisfied as to the stranger's _bona fides_. "My bag was stolen."

"Princess," he continued, "let me, in all humility, speak the truth.

The reason of my escape from Treysa was because your police held a photograph of me, and I feared that I might be identified. I am a thief--one of an international gang. And--and I pray you to forgive me, and to preserve my secret," he faltered, his cheeks again colouring.

"Your jewels are intact, and in my possession. You can now realise quite plainly why--why I escaped from Treysa!"

She held her breath, staring at him utterly stupefied. This man who had saved her, and so nearly lost his own life in the attempt, was a thief!

CHAPTER SIXTEEN.

LIGHT FINGERS.

Her Highness was face to face with one of those clever international criminals whose _coups_ were so constantly being reported in the Continental press.

She looked straight into his countenance, a long, intense look, half of reproach, half of surprise, and then, in a firm voice, said,--

"Mr. Bourne, I owe you a very great debt. To-day I will endeavour to repay it. Your secret, and the secret of the theft, shall remain mine."

"And you will give no information to the police?" he exclaimed quickly--"you promise that?"

"I promise," she said. "I admire you for your frankness. But, tell me--it was not you who took my bag at the station?"

"No. But it was one of us," he explained. "When the bag containing the jewels was opened I found, very fortunately, several letters addressed to you--letters which you evidently brought with you from Treysa. Then I knew that the jewels were yours, and determined, if I could find you, to restore them to you with our apologies."

"Why?" she asked. "You surely do not get possession of jewels of that value every day?"

"No, Princess. But the reason is, that although my companions are thieves, they are not entirely devoid of the respect due to a woman.

They have read in the newspapers of your domestic unhappiness, and of your flight with the little Princess, and have decided that to rob a defenceless woman, as you are at this moment, is a cowardly act. Though we are thieves, we still have left some vestige of chivalry."

"And your intention is really to restore them to me?" she remarked, much puzzled at this unexpected turn of fortune.

"Yes, had I not found those letters among them, I quite admit that, by this time, the stones would have been in Amsterdam and re-cut out of all recognition," he said, rather shamefacedly. Then, taking from his pocket the three letters addressed to her--letters which she had carried away from Treysa with her as souvenirs--he handed them to her, saying,--

"I beg of you to accept these back again. They are better in your Imperial Highness's hands than my own."

Her countenance went a trifle pale as she took them, and a sudden serious thought flashed through her mind.

"Your companions have, I presume, read what is contained in these?"

"No, Princess; they have not. I read them, and seeing to whom they were addressed, at once took possession of them. I only showed my companions the addresses."

She breathed more freely.