"All is fair in love and war." I
HOW THEY WERE FOUND
 
"What a long sigh! Are you tired, Amy?"
 
"Yes, and disappointed as well. I never would have undertaken this journey if I had not thought it would be full of novelty, romance, and charming adventures."
 
"Well, we have had several adventures."
 
"Bah! losing one's hat in the Rhine, getting left at a dirty little inn, and having our pockets picked, are not what I call adventures. I wish there were brigands in Germany—it needs something of that sort to enliven its stupidity."
 
"How can you call Germany stupid when you have a scene like this before you?" said Helen, with a sigh of pleasure, as she looked from the balcony which overhangs the Rhine at the hotel of the "Three Kings" at Coblentz. Ehrenbreitstein towered opposite, the broad river glittered below, and a midsummer moon lent its enchantment to the landscape.
 
As she spoke, her companion half rose from the low chair where she lounged, and showed the pretty, piquant face of a young girl. She seemed in a half melancholy, half petulant mood; and traces of recent illness were visible in the languor of her movements and the pallor of her cheeks.
 
"Yes, it is lovely; but I want adventures and romance of some sort to make it quite perfect. I don't care what, if something would only happen."
 
"My dear, you are out of spirits and weary now, to-morrow you'll be yourself again. Do not be ungrateful to uncle or unjust to yourself. Something pleasant will happen, I've no doubt. In fact, something has happened that you may make a little romance out of, perhaps, for lack of a more thrilling adventure."
 
"What do you mean?" and Amy's listless face brightened.
 
"Speak low; there are balconies all about us, and we may be overheard," said Helen, drawing nearer after an upward glance.
 
"What is the beginning of a romance?" whispered Amy, eagerly.
 
"A pair of gloves. Just now, as I stood here, and you lay with your eyes shut, these dropped from the balcony overhead. Now amuse yourself by weaving a romance out of them and their owner."
 
Amy seized them, and stepping inside the window, examined them by the candle.
 
"A gentleman's gloves, scented with violets! Here's a little hole fretted by a ring on the third finger. Bless me! here are the initials, 'S.P.,' stamped on the inside, with a coat of arms below. What a fop to get up his gloves in this style! They are exquisite, though. Such a delicate color, so little soiled, and so prettily ornamented! Handsome hands wore these. I'd like to see the man."
 
Helen laughed at the girl's interest, and was satisfied if any trifle amused her ennui.
 
"I will send them back by the kellner, and in that way we may discover their owner," she said.
 
But Amy arrested her on the way to the door.
 
"I've a better plan; these waiters are so stupid you'll get nothing out of them. Here's the hotel book sent up for our names; let us look among the day's arrivals and see who 'S.P.' is. He came to-day, I'm sure, for the man said the rooms above were just taken, so we could not have them."
 
Opening the big book, Amy was soon intently poring over the long list of names, written in many hands and many languages.
 
"I've got it! Here he is—oh, Nell, he's a baron! Isn't that charming? 'Sigismund von Palsdorf, Dresden.' We must see him, for I know he's handsome, if he wears such distracting gloves."
 
"You'd better take them up yourself, then."
 
"You know I can't do that; but I shall ask the man a few questions, just to get an idea what sort of person the baron is. Then I shall change my mind and go down to dinner; shall look well about me, and if the baron is agreeable I shall make uncle return the gloves. He will thank us, and I can say I've known a real baron. That will be so nice when we go home. Now, don't be duennaish and say I'm silly, but let me do as I like, and come and dress."
 
Helen submitted, and when the gong pealed through the house, Major Erskine marched into the great salle à manger, with a comely niece on each arm. The long tables were crowded, and they had to run the gauntlet of many eyes as they made their way to the head of the upper table. Before she touched her soup, Amy glanced down the line of faces opposite, and finding none that answered the slight description elicited from the waiter, she leaned a little forward to examine those on her own side of the table. Some way down sat several gentlemen, and as she bent to observe them, one did the same, and she received an admiring glance from a pair of fine black eyes. Somewhat abashed, she busied herself with her soup: but the fancy had taken possession of her, and presently she whispered to Helen,—
 
"Do you see any signs of the baron?"
 
"On my left; look at the hands."
 
Amy looked and saw a white, shapely hand with an antique ring on the third finger. Its owner's face was averted, but as he conversed with animation, the hand was in full play, now emphasizing an opinion, now lifting a glass, or more frequently pulling at a blond beard which adorned the face of the unknown. Amy shook her head decidedly.
 
"I hate light men, and don't think that is the baron, for the gloves are a size too small for those hands. Lean back and look some four or five seats lower down on the right. See what sort of person the dark man with the fine eyes is."
 
Helen obeyed, but almost instantly bent to her plate again, smiling in spite of herself.
 
"That is an Englishman; he stares rudely, says 'By Jove!' and wears no jewelry or beard."
 
"Now, I'm disappointed. Well, keep on the watch, and tell me if you make any discoveries, for I will find the baron."
 
Being hungry, Amy devoted herself to her dinner, till dessert was on the table. She was languidly eating grapes, while Helen talked with the major, when the word "baron" caught her ear. The speakers sat at a table behind her, so that she could not see them without turning quite round, which was impossible; but she listened eagerly to the following scrap of chat:—
 
"Is the baron going on to-morrow?" asked a gay voice in French.
 
"Yes, he is bound for Baden-Baden. The season is at its height, and he must make his game while the ball is rolling, or it is all up with the open-handed Sigismund," answered a rough voice.
 
"Won't his father pardon the last escapade?" asked a third, with a laugh.
 
"No, and he is right. The duel was a bad affair, for the man almost died, and the baron barely managed t............