A wicket suddenly opened in the studded door of the castle before them. Two men stepped through it upon the broad flat stone of its only step.
Both were past middle age but vigorous looking. The first standing in front of and obscuring his companion was evidently a personage of exalted rank. His hair and long mustachios were silvery white, and the glance he shot from under his heavy brows was keen and comprehensive. He seemed a man accustomed to both camp and court. One glance at his carriage would have shown to the merest tyro that he was a soldier even had he not worn a black hussar uniform. He looked coldly around upon the impassioned throng which was quieted by the steely glitter in his disdainful eyes, and then, turning, said something to the abashed equerry. Without remonstrance, the young fellow drew out his revolver and handed it to a sergeant who immediately pocketed it.
Having quieted the disturbance, he for the first time became aware of its cause. A cry of mingled grief and rage burst from his lips. He started impulsively forward, fumbling at his sword hilt, but his companion laid a restraining hand upon his arm, coming into full view for the first time.
It was no other than the Gray Man of the inn, who now, with bent head and most deferential manner, addressed a few whispered words to the elderly noble. After a brief, inaudible conference the two descended from the step to advance through the menacing throng toward the automobile.
Mechanically, Carter, reaching back his free hand, opened the door at the back of the car. The veteran stopped within touching distance, not deigning to notice the action of invitation, and held out imperative arms for the young Duchess.
His voice rasped harshly on the hot courage of the American. "Canaille," he blurted apoplectically, "how dared you run down Her Grace with your cursed car? Your touch profanes her person. Surrender her instantly."
It was a blow in the face to Carter.
Though his blood was boiling, respect for the age of the man who addressed him restrained Calvert from voicing the hot retort which sprang to his lips or striking his adversary to the ground. His hands opened and closed tensely as he kept himself in check. Disregarding the curt command, Carter, still holding Trusia in his arms, leaped lightly from the car and would have carried her into the castle had not the elderly soldier barred his way. With face crimson every glistening hair seemed to flash the lightning of his unspeakable rage at such presumption.
"Monsieur," said Carter with level eyes, "let me pass. The lady is too ill for us to be bandying words. You are too old and too well supported for me to hope to obtain adequate satisfaction for your insult."
The other did not budge from the path, but reached out a peremptory hand which he laid on Trusia's shoulder.