“Who told you that, gna’ Fräulein?” He gave her a sharp glance, but her gray eyes looked innocent of guile, and were therefore at their most dangerous.
“Oh, many people have told me. Cats may look at kings, and the most insignificant persons may talk of Emperors. I’ve heard many things of yours.”
“Good things or bad?”
“No doubt such things as he truly deserves. Now can you guess which? But perhaps I would tell you without your guessing, if I were not so very, very hungry.” She glanced at the pocket of his coat, from which protruded a generous hunch of black bread and ham—thrust in probably, at the instant when she had called for help. “I can’t help seeing that you have your luncheon with you. Do you want it all,” (she carefully ignored the contents of her rücksack, which she could not well have forgotten) “or—would you share it?”
The chamois hunter looked surprised, though not displeased. But then, this was his first experience of a feminine explorer, and he quickly rose to the occasion.
“There is more, much more bread and bacon where this came from,” he replied. “Will you be graciously pleased to accept something of our best?”
“If you please, then I too shall be pleased,” she said. Guiltily, she remembered Miss Portman. But the dear Letitia could not be considered now. If she were alarmed, she should be well consoled later.
“I and some friends of mine have a—a sort of hut round the corner from this plateau, and a short distance on,” announced the chamois hunter, with a gesture that gave the direction. “No woman has ever been our guest, but I invite you to visit it and lunch there. Or, if you prefer, remain here and in a few minutes I will bring such food as we can offer. At best it’s not much to boast of. We chamois hunters are poor men, living roughly.”
The Princess smiled, imprisoning each new thought of mischief which flew into her mind, like a trapped bird. “I’ve heard you’re rich in hospitality,” she said. “I’ll go with you to your hut, for it will be a chance to prove the saying.”