The young girl who was talking lay surrounded by pillows in a wide, old-fashioned bed in the American Red Cross hospital in Luxemburg.

Partly from excitement and also because it was characteristic, a brilliant color flamed the girl's cheeks. At present there was a little frown between her dark, finely lined brows.

"You must be glad not to have me at home for a time, knowing how we disagree on every important question. And, as for my absence from the palace, I am sure it can only be a relief. You know just how popular I am there at present in the midst of—"

The woman who was standing beside the bed, leaning over at this instant placed her fingers on the girl's lips.

"Don't talk nonsense and under no circumstances speak of so serious a matter where we may be overheard by strangers, my dear child. Please realize that the Americans are unknown people to us and if there are reasons why it is best we should be cordial, there is an even more important reason why, at present, we should keep our own council. A girl's opinions on matters of state are really not vital, unless the girl chances to be the Grand Duchess Marie Adelaide. As her cousin you perhaps take yourself too seriously. But I am not offering you advice, merely telling you that your father desires that you be moved to your own home as soon as your physicians think it advisable. The court physician will call on you at the hospital this afternoon. Both your father and I are at a loss to understand how you managed to fall from your horse when ordinarily you are so skilful a rider."

The speaker was a severe, elderly person, rather massive, and dressed in a heavy black silk gown, with her white hair piled high under an imposing bonnet and her thin lips drawn into an annoyed line.

Nevertheless, she managed to keep the tones of her voice fairly even.

"Naturally enough I realize, Charlotta, that you would refuse to be influenced by me, although for that matter you have never been influenced by any one from the time you were a child."

The girl bit her lips.

"I am afraid I am not well enough to argue at present and my unfortunate disposition, Tante, is rather a time-worn subject between us. I shall do no harm here, only rest and have a little peace from our everlasting discussions. Besides, you do not seem to consider the fact that I happen to be rather seriously hurt. No one knows how seriously at present, a broken arm and a cut on one's head are not comfortable afflictions, even if they are not dangerous. But the physicians at the American Red Cross hospital who were good enough to rescue and bring me here seem to believe there may be other complications and that I had best stay where I am for the present. Please be as gracious as possible, I have asked Mrs. Clark to come in this afternoon and be introduced to you. Her husband is a prominent American surgeon who has gone on with General Pershing toward Germany. She is here with a few other Red Cross nurses caring for a number of American soldiers until they are well enough to be moved. I think we owe her special courtesy as a guest in our country."

"I am apt to forget the fact Charlotta, or what is required of me, even though I do regard it as unfortunate that the American army should have left us a special reminder of their visit, once having passed through our country."

There was an iciness in the manner of the Countess Scherin which gave one the right to believe that she had no enthusiasm for the American army, whatever personal reasons of state might compel her to courtesy.

Before replying the young Countess Charlotta Scherin dropped back on her pillows.

"If you don't mind, Tante, would you mind ringing the bell? I am sure you would prefer seeing Mrs. Clark in the drawing-room and I am suffering a good deal just at this moment and would like to be quiet. After all you know this house is mine and this bed on which I am at present lying was once my own mother's. If for reasons of state I was allowed to offer my house to the American Red Cross during their stay in Luxemburg, it seems to me like fate that I should be brought here after my accident. But please don't mention to Mrs. Clark that this is my house. It was offered to the American Red Cross in the name of the city."

A moment later Bianca Zoli appeared to escort their distinguished visitor downstairs.

About to leave the room she beheld an imploring glance in the dark eyes of the girl on the bed and going closer heard her whisper:

"Do please come back as soon as you can, I don't really need anything except that I am lonely."

Returning fifteen minutes later, it was then after five o'clock and dusk was gathering in the fine, old-fashioned chamber, so Bianca Zoli quietly sat down without speaking in the chair which had just been vacated by the elderly countess.

The girl upon the bed appeared to be asleep at the moment, but as Bianca had no other duty to occupy her it struck her that it might be entertaining to sit in the big, strange room watching her companion and thinking of her story, or at least of its brief outline which was all she knew at present.

Having witnessed the girl's accident and finding her unconscious and therefore unable to explain her name or identity, it had appeared to both the young American physicians and nurses that the best solution would be to bring her as swiftly as possible to their own hospital. After she had received the necessary attention there would be time and opportunity to discover her family and friends.

A few hours afterwards, when the girl herself returned to consciousness, she explained that she was the young Countess Charlotta Scherin and lived with her father and aunt on their estate at a short distance from the city. The greater part of her time, however, she spent at the Grand Palace with her cousins, the Grand Duchess Marie Adelaide and her five younger sisters.

She seemed to be in a great deal of pain and yet not particularly unhappy over her accident, only asking that her father be informed that she was in safe hands. And if it were possible and not too much trouble could she remain at the American Red Cross hospital until her recovery?

Yet Bianca had only considered her companion for a few moments when she became aware that the other girl had opened her eyes and was looking with the deepest interest at her.

"I am so glad to have the chance to know American girls," she began. "It may strike you as odd but I have wanted to know them all my life and now through my accident I am to have the opportunity. But you look very young and fragile to have undertaken Red Cross work during the war. I believe it is the courage, the way in which you go ahead and do what you wish and face the consequences afterwards, that I so much admire."

Bianca shook her head.

"It is odd your saying this to me of all persons, because I used to feel a good deal as you do. You see I am not altogether an American girl; my mother was an Italian and my father an American, but I have been living in the United States and I confess I have tried to make myself as like one as possible. But do you think you ought to talk? I'll talk to you if you like, although I am not very interesting; I'm afraid you must be suffering a great deal."

Bianca made this final remark because her companion was evidently struggling to keep back the tears which had suddenly filled her eyes.

"Yes, do please talk to me, I am suffering, but I think it is more because I am worried and unhappy than because I am in such pain that I lose my self-control. I have always prided myself on being able to endure physical pain. What are you thinking about?"

Bianca's large dark eyes which were her only southern inheritance had unexpectedly assumed a questioning expression, although her lips had framed no question.

"Why, I was merely thinking of how odd life is and how few persons, even young girls are particularly happy. A moment ago I was sitting here envying you because your life seemed so wonderful to me. You have been brought up amid wealth and have a title of your own and live a part of the time in a palace with real duchesses. I suppose my speech does not sound very democratic, yet I think you might find a good many American girls who would envy you for these same reasons."

"Then they would be extremely stupid," the other girl answered, "because freedom is sometimes the most important thing in the world to an individual as it may be to a state.

"Suppose, oh, leaving me out of the question altogether, but just suppose that any girl's mother had died when the girl was a baby only one year old. Then suppose the child had been brought up by her father and aunt both of whom were twice the age of the girl's own mother. Then remember her mother was French and the girl always loved only the things which concerned her mother, had learned to speak her language and had written letters to all her family, but had never been allowed to visit them because the girl's father and aunt believed only in German ideals and in German customs and wished to separate her wholly from her mother's country and people. Moreover, they had neither of them ever been able to forgive her because she had not been a boy and so been trained for the army, the German army if possible. Then suppose the girl had loved only the outdoors and horses and dogs as if she had been a boy, but because she was a girl had to be trained in all the German ways. As for living in a palace, it is hard sometimes to do and say the proper thing all the time, when you feel they don't believe in the things you believe. Oh, I am not saying the fault is not mine—"

The girl stopped an instant.

"But I was not supposed to be talking about myself, still you must have guessed."

"I should not have guessed unless you wished me to guess," Bianca replied in the prim little fashion of her childhood which she had never lost from her manner and which amused and pleased her friends.

"No, you would not have guessed, you are a dear," the Countess Charlotta answered with an impulsiveness which was an entire contrast to Bianca's nature.

"But what I wanted to explain to you is that you were envying what you thought were my circumstances. You were not really thinking of me at all. You see one might be a princess and be very unhappy and one might be a very humble person and just the opposite. Then I think we ought to realize that a princess may be very horrid and a beggar maid most wonderful."

The young countess hesitated.

"I thought that what I have just said is what Americans believed. Don't they think that human beings are equal and that it all depends on what they do with their own lives, what they are able to make of themselves?"

Bianca shook her head.

"I don't know, you had better talk to some one else on this question instead of to me. I am not at all clever, even my best friends, Sonya Clark and Carlo Navara, do not think I am clever. But there is one thing I understand at present. You have told me a great many interesting facts about yourself, but there is something else on your mind which you have not confided to me. It is something which makes you wish you were an American girl because you believe in that case you could do what you like. I think you wish to confide in some one, but can't quite decide. If I were in your place I would try not to worry until you are better, then if you want some one to talk to, don't choose me. I should never be able to give you any worthwhile advice. But talk to Mrs. Clark, Sonya Clark. She has had a very unusual life and is one of the most wonderful friends in the world!"

The older girl was by this time lying back on her pillows and gazing at Bianca with an odd smile.

"You know," she said finally, "I would not be surprised if your friends are mistaken in thinking you are not clever. Perhaps I shall take your advice. I suppose I had best try now to go to sleep, I am afraid I have already talked too much."