Wogan made his escape from the company as soon as he could, and going up to his apartments read the letter. The moon was at its full, and what with the clear, frosty air, and the snow stretched [pg 43] over the world like a white counterpane, he was able to read the letter by the window without the light of a candle. It was written in the Chevalier's own cipher and hand; it asked anxiously for news and gave some. Wogan had had occasion before to learn that cipher by heart. He stood by the window and spelled the meaning. Then he turned to go down; but at the door his foot slipped upon the polished boards, and he stumbled onto his knee. He picked himself up, and thinking no more of the matter rejoined the company in a room where the Countess of Berg was playing upon a harp.
"The King," said Wogan, drawing the Prince apart, "leaves Bologna for Rome."
"So the letter came from him?" asked the Prince, with an eagerness which could not but seem hopeful to his companion.
"And in his own hand," replied Wogan.
The Prince shuffled and hesitated as though he was curious to hear particulars. Wogan thought it wise to provoke his curiosity by disregarding it. It seemed that there was wisdom in his reticence, for a little later the Prince took him aside while the Countess of Berg was still playing upon her harp, and said,—
"Single-handed you could do nothing. You would need friends."
Wogan took a slip of paper from his pocket and gave it to the Prince.
"On that slip," said he, "I wrote down the [pg 44] names of all the friends whom I could trust, and by the side of the names the places where I could lay my hands upon them. One after the other I erased the names until only three remained."
The Prince nodded and read out the names.
"Gaydon, Misset, O'Toole. They are good men?"