Even then the stirrup of the American touched him slightly.

But it was not the touch of the stirrup that startled him; it was the dark, clean-cut face of the rider.

Once they were by, the youth darted into a doorway.
"He?
What can he be doing here?
No, it is utterly impossible; it is merely a likeness." He ventured forth presently, none of the perturbation, however, gone from his face.

He ran his hand across his chin; yes, he would let his beard grow.
The duke and his escort turned into the broad and restful sweep of the Koenig Strasse, with its fashionable residences, shops, cafes and hotels.
At the end of the _Strasse_ was the Ehrenstein Platz, the great square round which ran the palaces and the royal and public gardens.

On the way many times the duke raised his hand in salutations; for, while not exactly loved, he was liked for his rare clean living, his sound sense of justice and his honest efforts to do what was right.