Helène was the first to speak: “Mr. Morton, we cannot tell you how much we feel ourselves beholden to you. I hope that a more fitting occasion will offer itself to express our deep appreciation and gratitude for the service you have rendered us.” Her words sounded strained to his ears; but he smiled and bowed. “The Princess feels herself strong enough to walk,” continued the Comtesse, “we are ready when you are.” Morton bowed without a word and turned to the guides with orders.
They resumed their downward march, and entered the protecting woods of pink-tipped trees. At dusk they reached the highway, broad and smooth in gleaming gray, silently following the guides, who were laughing and chatting with careless ease, as they munched their bread and cheese.
Soon they came to a neatly gravelled path which led to a low, rambling cottage some hundred feet back from the highway. Here they stopped and Papiu announced that their journey’s end had been reached.
It was the house of Toni Brasic, a God-fearing man and the husband of their good sister Amuska. The gracious Gospodinas and Gospodar Morton would be in good hands here and very welcome.
A loud call accompanied by the growling of a sheep dog brought to the door a strapping young woman, whom the brothers greeted with sounding smacks as their beloved niece Rossika, and who was told to hurry and call her mother.
In the cheerfully lighted and warm room the girls sank gratefully into stiff tulip-painted chairs and greedily drank the clear cool water offered them. A roaring fire through the open door of an ovenlike brick stove lit up the place and spread comfort all around. In its warmth the girls brightened and their faces shone with happiness. The comely stout hostess with the leathery weather-beaten face stood looking at them with open mouth and adoration in her eyes. In the next room could be heard Rossika busy with her preparations for the supper, and in a few minutes she rushed in with a shy, smiling mien to inform the “Gospodinas” that their rooms were ready for them. Here they found warm water, clean linen and garments, and soft red “saffian” boots for their tired feet. The girl helped them, blushing and shy at the honor of serving the noble ladies.
Dressed at last in their hostess’s best gowns, which were so ample as to envelop them, they reappeared in the living room, where they were immediately joined by the men, and where a plentiful repast had been spread. The natives sat at one end of the long table, close together, whispering to each other of their adventures and glorifying their deeds.
At the upper end of the table sat the two girls, their faces flushed, their tired, deep-sunken eyes sparkling in wondering happiness. Morton sat opposite them in deep thought.
The Junolike Rossika flitted from chair to chair piling goodies upon their plates, filling their glasses and constantly throwing glances of intense admiration at the girls. How different they were from the girls she knew. They were Princesses or perhaps Queens—beautiful as the pictures of the angels in lace-paper borders in her prayer book.
Supper over, everybody expressed themselves as being too tired to sit up. The girls withdrew to their rooms, and the men retired to the kitchen for a smoke and a talk with their relatives. Morton, however, remained to consult with Don about the program for the next day. Soon, even these were too wearied to stay awake, and retired to their beds.