She was to wed a man on whom she looked with indifference, but wed him she must; it was written. A toy of ambition, she was neither more nor less. Ah, to be as her maids, not royal, but free. Of the three new faces one belonged to the man whom she was to wed; another was a tall, light-haired man whom she had seen from her carriage; the last walked by her side. And somehow, the visionary face, the faces of the man whom she was to wed and the light-haired man suddenly grew indistinct. She glanced from the corner of her eyes at Maurice, but meeting his glance, in which lay something that caused her uneasiness, her gaze dropped to the path.
“I shall be pleased to tell her Highness that a stranger, who has not met her, who does not even suspect her rebel spirit, desires to be her friend.”
“O, Mademoiselle,” he cried in alarm, “that desire was expressed in confidence.”
“I know it. It is for that very reason I wish her to know. Have no fear, Monsieur;” and she laughed without mirth. “Her Highness will not send you to prison.”
Close at hand Maurice discovered a cuirassier, who, on seeing them, saluted and stood attention. Maurice was puzzled.
“Lieutenant,” said the girl, “Monsieur--Carewe?” turning to Maurice.
“Well, then, Monsieur Carewe has met with an accident; please escort him to the gate. I trust you will not suffer any inconvenience from the cold. Good evening, Monsieur Carewe.”
She retraced her steps down the path. The bulldog followed. Once he looked back at Maurice, and stopped as if undecided, then went on. Maurice stared at the figure of the girl until it vanished behind a clump of rose bushes.
“Well, Monsieur Carewe!” said the Lieutenant, a broad smile under his mustache.
“I beg your pardon, Lieutenant. May I ask you who she is?”
Maurice suddenly saw light. “Her Royal Highness?” blankly.
“Her Royal Highness, God bless her!” cried the Lieutenant heartily.
“Amen to that,” replied Maurice, his agitation visible even to the officer.
They arrived at the gate in silence. The cuirassier raised the bar, touched his helmet, and said, with something like an amused twinkle in his eyes: “Would Monsieur like to borrow my helmet for a space?”
Maurice put up a hand to his water-soaked hair, and gave an ejaculation of dismay. He had forgotten all about his hat, which was by now, in-all probabilities, at the bottom of the lake.