When the Essen doctor advised Maria Hussmann, Frederick Krupp's "lady housekeeper," to try a course of thermal baths at Aix-la-Chapelle she was only too glad to do so. Maria was a typical German woman, heavy, solid, and, as she was in the late thirties, fond of boasting of her respectability. She styled herself "a noble lady," and she was in the habit of explaining to her acquaintances that she only "condescended" to manage Herr Krupp's domestic staff for him, having been tempted by an enormous salary, the latter being a tribute to her excellence and her social position. She always carried herself with great dignity, and Krupp, who had a comic admiration for what in Germany passes for good breeding, was rather proud of his employÉe's pride.

Of course, he readily granted her permission to make the journey to the favourite resort, and to stay there for at least a month. Maria, therefore, packed up her trunks, and started for Aix-la-Chapelle. The woman had a fairly large sum of money saved, and, anxious to meet the best people, she put up at a first-class hotel, and placed herself under the care of a physician with a European reputation. In this way she acquired position at once in the hotel, and while carefully suppressing the fact that she was the Cannon King's housekeeper she let it be known that she derived her means from him.

Everybody thereupon assumed that she was a relation of Krupp's, and after that expressed no surprise that she should be so rich.

The tall woman with the red face, who looked so grotesque in her fashionable clothes, was most assiduous in following her doctor's orders, and she was soon a well-known figure amongst the patients, who came from all parts of the world. When the scores of impecunious German officers heard that she was actually related to the millionaire Krupp they crowded round her, and the widow took their admiration as due entirely to her personal charm! Every day she had more invitations to lunch than she could accept, and there was keen competition for the honour of escorting her to the theatre or opera. This was, indeed, life, and, large as was Frederick Krupp's monthly cheque, she began to look forward to the time when she would be independent of it, and would have an officer husband—the ambition of every German woman—and a home of her own to manage.

Then suddenly she met, purely by accident, a man who raised her ambitions even higher. Hitherto she had considered it bliss to hear a young officer of the Prussian Guards whisper insincerities into her ear, but once she became acquainted with a future King she forgot all other men.

It was a very hot afternoon in mid-August, 1897, when Maria, walking slowly between an avenue of trees, slipped on a piece of orange-peel, and she would have met with a serious accident had not a gentleman caught her in time. The shock, however, gravely affected her, and her rescuer had to escort her to a friendly seat to give her time to recover. There he waited politely until she signified that she was better, and it was only then that she took notice of him. She saw a man above medium height with a saturnine countenance, dark eyes and a black moustache. She noticed that the expression of his mouth hovered between a sneer and a scowl, and somehow his grey suit and light Homburg hat failed to give a touch of relief to an exterior not at all pleasing. However, Maria was too great a "perfect lady" not to feel grateful for the service he had rendered her, and she thanked him, ending up by revealing her identity.

"I am charmed, madame," said the stranger, speaking in French. "My name is—but, no, I must respect my incognito. I am Count d'Este. You can know me by that." A profound bow followed, and the next moment the count had disappeared.

Marie went back to her hotel with the words "incognito" and "count" ringing in her ears. She was sure that the stranger had been impressed by her, and she was equally certain that he was a great man, for only monarchs and their heirs talked of travelling "incognito." He was undoubtedly something better than a count, although Maria had an exaggerated veneration for any title of nobility.

Of course, the "lady housekeeper from Essen" procured an Almanach de Gotha at the hotel, but as it was not illustrated, she could not identify the mysterious gentleman, and she might have given up the task had she not met him again at the same place the following day. On this occasion he came straight up to her, and in the most charming and natural manner entered into conversation, carefully inquiring first if she had suffered any ill-consequences from the previous day's mishap, and expressing the greatest delight when she declared that she was quite well again.

They parted after half an hour, the count in a sad voice informing her that owing to fear of being recognized and his incognito not being respected he could not ask her to be his guest at a restaurant. The remark fired her curiosity, and she went at once to the public library, and within a quarter of an hour was surrounded by a score of books on the royal families of Europe. It took her, however, nearly two hours to solve the mystery, and it was a bound volume of the Paris Figaro that gave her the clue she was seeking.

"He's the Archduke Francis Ferdinand," she whispered to herself, and her body vibrated. "The heir to the throne! And we're such good friends! Now I'll have no difficulty in being received into the society that I've always longed to enter."

When she reached her hotel there was a retired German colonel waiting to take her for a promenade, and at any other time Maria would have given half her fortune to be seen in his company, but now she almost condescendingly begged him to excuse her, and as she lumbered up the stairs the colonel could only stand in the hall, stare after her, and mutter curses expressive of his surprise and anger. He had planned to marry the wealthy relative of Frederick Krupp, and so save himself from bankruptcy. But Frau Hussmann had no use for common colonels now. She could think only of her august friend, the heir to the throne of Austria; no one else mattered.

It was her intention to keep her discovery to herself, but when on the third day she found the "count" obviously waiting for her she could not restrain herself when after five minutes' promenading together she had yet to hear a word from him. The "count" was in one of his melancholy moods, but since seeing him last she had read in several papers how addicted he was to pessimism, and she had already come to the conclusion that her mission in life was to save him from melancholia, and give him a new interest in life.

"Your Imperial and Royal Highness"—she began.

But he started convulsively, and laid a warning hand on her arm. "Ah, I see you have discovered my secret," he said with a most anxious expression. "Trust a woman's wit to get to the truth. You pierced my incognito, madame. But I am not angry. It is proof that you take an interest in an unhappy man. I thank you for it."

"Unhappy?" she echoed in amazement. "Your Royal Highness——"

"My name is Franz—to my friends," he said, looking at her steadily, "and we are friends, are we not?"

Maria could scarcely speak, so excited was she by the honour. The Archduke Francis Ferdinand was so natural and such a delightful companion! That very day he told her how his uncle, the Emperor, was trying to force him to marry an archduchess he did not love, and he recounted scenes in the Hofburg at Vienna which simply enthralled Krupp's lady housekeeper, who felt that she was, indeed, taking a peep into the most exclusive Court in Europe.

"I can go nowhere without being pestered," said the melancholy archduke. "I have no real friends. The Czar and the Kaiser only invite me to their palaces to introduce me to princesses. I am considered merely a pawn on the chessboard of Europe, and they never seem to think that I have a heart like other men, and that I long for a sweet, sympathetic wife."

He pressed her hand and looked into her eyes, and Maria Hussmann had difficulty in keeping on her feet, so overcome was she by emotion as she walked in that shady avenue and knew that she was being made love to by the future Emperor of Austria and King of Hungary.

"You understand now why I am in Aix-la-Chapelle," he resumed after a pause. "I can experience a little liberty here, and by paying cash for everything I have no need to reveal my identity. Of course I dare not draw cheques on my bankers, for that would give me away completely. Oh, madame, I am thankful that I came here, for I have never been so happy since I met you."

The courtship was not a long one: indeed, it was much too short for the romantic woman. Nearly every afternoon she met the archduke, and he always had some fresh story to tell her of the Hofburg—the Kaiser's secret visits there, the drawing up of important treaties at midnight, the "removing" of political enemies, and the real meaning of various public actions of the emperor's. Incidentally he enlightened Marie as to the real character of Frederick Krupp. He was, of course, very sorry to have to draw the line at the millionaire, he said, even if Madame was a relative of the Cannon King's; but Marie hastened to dissociate herself from her "relation," explaining that she had a fortune independent of him, and that if ever she married she would not want to see too much of the Kaiser's friend.

A fortnight after the accident the archduke formally asked Marie to be his wife. She had been expecting the proposal for days, but she was surprised almost into hysterics when he actually made the offer. It seemed too good to be true. Aix-la-Chapelle was then crowded with beauties of all sorts and conditions. Some of the loveliest heiresses in Europe were to be seen daily in the town. The archduke had only to reveal himself to be flattered and courted by them, and yet he had chosen her! It was undoubtedly the greatest compliment she could possibly receive.

In the faintest of tones she said "Yes," and the archduke bowed over her hand, and impressed a respectful kiss upon it. "Just like one would expect from a prince," said the lady housekeeper later when describing that moment of blissful triumph.

"Of course, we'll be married at once," said Franz Ferdinand, who was the most attentive and enthusiastic of lovers. "Until you are my wife I shall not know a moment's peace, for if the Emperor got to know of my matrimonial plans he would have you kidnapped, Maria, and I should be left to mourn your loss."

The idea of the Emperor abducting this sixteen stone of solid German flesh would have struck anyone but Maria as comic. She, however, was too great an admirer of herself and too romantic to see anything absurd in the idea.

"I am ready for you at any time, Franz," she said in a flutter. "You know I am yours for ever now."

How delightful it was to meet the archduke every day after dusk and discuss the question of immediate marriage! They made plans, only to unmake them at their next meeting. Once for a period of three days Krupp's housekeeper had to live without seeing her fiancÉ, but, as he explained on his return to Aix-la-Chapelle, he had been unexpectedly recalled to Vienna to take part in a Council of State at the Hofburg.

"Again the Emperor talked of my marrying one of my cousins," he said with a scowl. "He little realizes that I am about to wed the girl of my heart, and one whom I mean to make my Empress when the right time comes."

Once more they fell to discussing the best place to get married in. Various Continental cities were mentioned, but rejected, and eventually the archduke's suggestion that they should travel to London at once, go through the marriage ceremony at a register office, and then in the presence of a priest, and afterwards return to Aix-la-Chapelle, was adopted. From there Francis Ferdinand was to inform his uncle as to what had happened, and prepare for his entry into Austria with his bride by his side.

"Once you are mine, even the Emperor will not be able to separate us," he assured her confidently, "and you can always rely upon my love and protection. I am sure the Austrians and Hungarians will take my lovely bride to their hearts."

With the venue settled upon there was only one thing more to do, and that was for the archduke to send for "a few thousand marks" for the expenses of their wedding and subsequent honeymoon. He spoke so glibly of his immense fortune that poor Maria did not dare to refer to the fifty thousand marks she had in the bank at Essen. However, he spared her any embarrassment by laughingly advising her to take whatever money she had out of the German banks in case "the Emperor, my uncle, should try to deprive you of it." Maria accordingly sent instructions to her bankers, and shortly she had two thousand five hundred pounds in her possession, but only for a short time, for she handed it over to "Franz" for safe keeping on his suggestion.

The portly housekeeper and the melancholy archduke stole out of Aix-la-Chapelle late one night, and, travelling by a circuitous route, reached London two days later. They were both dead tired, but nevertheless very happy, and for the time being the Austrian heir seemed to have become another man. He could laugh and joke and talk rapturously of the love he bore his bride, and he was all impatience for their brief journey to the register office in the neighbourhood of the Strand.

London was crowded at the time. In the previous June Queen Victoria had celebrated her Diamond Jubilee, and if all the royalties had departed there were sufficient notable sight-seers from all corners of the earth to make the great city more than usually interesting.

"It is the best time for us," said the archduke, beaming upon Maria as they prepared to leave the hotel for the register office. "These Londoners have had so much royalty in their midst lately that they won't trouble to bother about me." The dingy register office seemed to Maria Hussmann a veritable Fairyland setting for her romance when she stood beside Francis Ferdinand, and the wheezy official turned them into man and wife in the most matter-of-fact manner. She regretted that they had to give false names, but she was well aware that that small fraud would not invalidate the marriage.

A couple of clerks, called in, and rewarded with half a sovereign each, officiated as witnesses, and then Maria and her princely husband went out into the sunshine and tried to realize that the wonderful event had happened.

They had a merry little lunch for two at the Savoy Hotel, and in the afternoon they went for a drive through London. At night they had a box at one of the principal theatres, and Francis Ferdinand talked of taking her down to Windsor to see the Queen.

"Her Majesty has a womanly heart, and she will sympathize with us," he declared. How Maria's heart beat when she listened to him talking so familiarly of the crowned heads of Europe! "She'll stand by us, and she's the most powerful woman in the world. I know Wilhelm will bluster and Nicholas shed tears over my supposed loss of dignity, but I don't care."

Maria had agreed to keep their marriage a secret until her husband had chosen the right moment to break the news to his uncle, the Emperor Francis Joseph, and what with daily drives, visits to the theatres, and exciting plans for a tour of the Courts of Europe, she let a whole week go by in London without having broken her promise. Yet she wished that she could tell some of the people at the Savoy, especially those fashionable dames who were in the habit of regarding her with unfavourable looks. It would make them treat her respectfully. It was all very well for Francis Ferdinand to wish for privacy, but she was crazy with anxiety to astonish Europe with news of her exploit. She must have dropped hints in the hearing of her maid, for between lunch and afternoon tea at the Savoy one mild September day she found a pleasant-mannered gentleman beside her, who opened a conversation, and deftly extracted a statement from her concerning her husband. This person happened to be a journalist, and, the same day, the wires were busy conveying the startling information that the heir to the throne of Austria had married Maria Hussmann, Frederick Krupp's lady housekeeper!

Meanwhile the bridegroom had also read the statement in a London paper, and without a trace of annoyance had questioned his wife. Maria confessed that she had been unable to resist the temptation to proclaim her pride and happiness, and he did not reprove her harshly. It was only human, after all, he said, for girls do not marry archdukes every day, so he kissed her and went downstairs, and she never saw him again.

A third person read about the affair with, perhaps, more interest than anybody else, and he was the real Francis Ferdinand. He was staying at his palace in Hungary, and the announcement of his marriage tickled even his dormant sense of humour. Three years were to elapse before he was to become the husband of the Countess Sophy Chotek, later Duchess of Hohenberg, and seventeen ere their double murder was to precipitate the greatest of all wars.

There was no difficulty in exposing the fraud, but when a detective from Scotland Yard called at the hotel he found only a weeping bride. Her husband had disappeared, and she was desolate. The truth was broken to her, and a benevolent lady in London made arrangements for her to return to Essen. The authorities had no use for her now. Their energies were concentrated on discovering the retreat of the impostor.

His history was a peculiar one. Johann Schmidt—his real name—was the son of a Berlin bookmaker, who after numerous terms of imprisonment had become an inmate of a criminal lunatic asylum. He escaped from this prison by impersonating one of the doctors, and, having made his way to Aix-la-Chapelle, wooed and won the impressionable lady housekeeper from Essen.

The impostor was not, however, brought to trial, as Maria would not prosecute him. All she wished was to be allowed to bury herself in obscurity. But she was scarcely more annoyed than the Chauvinistic German journalists that her husband was not the real Simon Pure.

"No wonder he could pose so successfully as Francis Ferdinand," one of them wrote, "he was for six years in a lunatic asylum."