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There’s a woman in it of course—and a glorious woman too. A tall, queenly creature, as handsome as a Greek, with the free carriage of one of our own American girls. I saw her on the train, or rather she saw me and seemed particularly interested in me, and it was suiting me very nicely when out came the reason. We stopped at a station some miles from the capital, and as the girl and I were separated from the rest of the people, she said in an undertone—

“Your Majesty does not count the risks of travelling incognito, alone?”

“There are pleasures to counterbalance any risks, mademoiselle,” I answered. “Your solicitude is one of them.” And I smiled, partly at her amazing mistake and partly because she was so pretty. Then to put myself right, I added: “But you mistake, I am no Majesty. I am an American, Harper C. Denver is my name.” She lifted her eyebrows and smiled again, in obvious disbelief, and replied in French—

“An American who understands Russian, speaks French, and resembles His Majesty the Czar.”