"I will give your commands to the Señor Americano, your Highness," promised the black-eyed Dolores, with a heightened color.
Then the Princess disappeared across the end of the balcony. Dolores walked to the doorway, and discerned two figures approaching with a strange slowness.
"Is this the inn?" cried a voice, with a slight foreign accent in the Spanish.
"Yes, yes, señor. Come in, señor, we are expecting you," replied the girl.
The villagers were still grouped about the door to the taproom. Dolores stepped back, as Warren Jarvis and Rusty Snow entered the big front hallway, and blinked in the unaccustomed glare of light.
They were both burdened with suitcases, and two of the Princess' hatboxes. These they dropped unceremoniously on the floor, with sighs of relief.
"We're here, Rusty, with both feet!"
"Yassir," and the negro groaned with exhaustion, "and I'd jest as lieve be back in Meadow Green. Dis don't look very scrumptious for a Mrs. Princessess' plantation house."
"This is no castle, Rusty. This is only the halfway house."
Dolores could not understand their low conversation in English—and Afro-Americanese! But she had studied the clear features, the nonchalant bearing of the tall American. She turned toward the sheep-like, staring villagers, and with an eloquent wave of her hand she cried out resonantly: