The Prince and Nella were near the window, which looked on to the back-garden.
It was a queer shabby little bedroom to shelter the august body of a European personage like Prince Eugen of Posen.

Curiously enough, both Nella and her father, ardent democrats though they were, had been somehow impressed by the royalty and importance of the fever-stricken Prince--impressed as they had never been by Aribert.

They had both felt that here, under their care, was a species of individuality quite new to them, and different from anything they had previously encountered.
Even the gestures and tones of his delirium had an air of abrupt yet condescending command--an imposing mixture of suavity and haughtiness.
As for Nella, she had been first struck by the beautiful 'E' over a crown on the sleeves of his linen, and by the signet ring on his pale, emaciated hand.

After all, these trifling outward signs are at least as effective as others of deeper but less obtrusive significance.
The Racksoles, too, duly marked the attitude of Prince Aribert to his nephew: it was at once paternal and reverential; it disclosed clearly that Prince Aribert continued, in spite of everything, to regard his nephew as his sovereign lord and master, as a being surrounded by a natural and inevitable pomp and awe.

This attitude, at the beginning, seemed false and unreal to the Americans; it seemed to them to be assumed; but gradually they came to perceive that they were mistaken, and that though America might have cast out 'the monarchial superstition', nevertheless that 'superstition' had vigorously survived in another part of the world.
'You and Mr Racksole have been extraordinarily kind to me,' said Prince Aribert very quietly, after the two had sat some time in silence.
'Why?
How ?' she asked unaffectedly.