During the examination, General Palmora explained that I was a physician and that I could give the Prince the best of treatment. He made his explanations in French, which I think was for my benefit, and the Red Fox replied in the same tongue.
"A doctor," he queried, "what have we to do with doctors in Dhalmatia?"
"But, my dear Duke, the boy is seriously injured."
"So? So?" cried the Fox, "and is that any reason why I should permit strangers to intrude upon the privacy of my house, especially friends of yours, Palmora, to run things as they please?"
"I would have you understand, sir," replied the General with dignity, "that only such untoward circumstances as the present would have permitted me to enter your house, and to so far forget the respect I owe my friends as to allow them to cross your threshold."
"'Tis unfortunate," said the Duke, still working over the boy. "The General should remember that the House of Dhalmatia can take care of itself."
"The General did not forget," replied the soldier, hotly; "but in this case he begs the Duke to consider that the Prince is not the son of Dhalmatia—"
"What!" shouted the Duke, going suddenly pale with extreme agitation and advancing threateningly toward the General, who did not seem to mind the feelings the remarks were stirring up.
"Not the son of Dhalmatia, but the heir to the throne of Bharbazonia, and therefore he is my liege lord and master. As a patriot I must care for him. Beside, it was our automobile which caused his accident."
The Duke sank down on his knees beside the couch at his son's feet as if his strength had forsaken him. He offered no further objection to our presence and watched as the old servant attempted to revive the patient. When at last, under the effect of the restorative, the boy opened his eyes the first person he saw and smiled upon was his father. Then his eyes met mine.