The voice called again from the wood below, louder.
“Oh, it isn’t the baroness. It’s Miss Lambart,” said the princess in a tone of relief.
“You take too much notice of that baroness,” said Erebus again firmly. “Who is Miss Lambart?”
“She’s my English lady-in-waiting. I always have one when I’m in England, of course. I like her. She tries to amuse me. But the baroness doesn’t like her,” said the princess, and she sighed.
“Come along, I’ll help you down the bank and take you pretty close to Miss Lambart. It wouldn’t do for her to know of this place. It’s our secret lair,” said the Terror.
“I see,” said the princess.
They walked briskly to the edge of the steep bank; and he half carried her down it; and he led her through the wood toward the drive from which Miss Lambart had called. As they went he adjured her to confine herself to the simple if incomplete statement that she had been walking in the wood. His last words to her, as they stood on the edge of the drive, were:
“Don’t you stand so much nonsense from that baroness.”
Miss Lambart called again; the princess stepped into the drive and found her thirty yards away. The Terror slipped noiselessly away through the undergrowth.
Miss Lambart turned at the sound of the princess’ footsteps, and said: “Oh, here you are, Highness. We’ve all been hunting for you. The baroness thought you were lost.”