“I have just received word that Prince Peter has ignored your commands, sire,” replied the girl, “and that Mr. Custer is to be shot tomorrow.”
Barney’s eyes went wide with incredulity. Here was a pretty pass, indeed! The princess came close to him and seized his arm.
“You promised, sire,” she said, “that he would not be harmed—you gave your royal word. You can save him. You have an army at your command. Do not forget that he once saved you.”
The note of appeal in her voice and the sorrow in her eyes gave Barney Custer a twinge of compunction. The necessity for longer concealing his identity in so far as the salvation of Lutha was concerned seemed past; but the American had intended to carry the deception to the end.
He had given the matter much thought, but he could find no grounds for belief that Emma von der Tann would be any happier in the knowledge that her future husband had had nothing to do with the victory of his army. If she was doomed to a life at his side, why not permit her the grain of comfort that she might derive from the memory of her husband’s achievements upon the battlefield of Lustadt? Why rob her of that little?
But now, face to face with her, and with the evidence of her suffering so plain before him, Barney’s intentions wavered. Like most fighting men, he was tender in his dealings with women. And now the last straw came in the form of a single tiny tear that trickled down the girl’s cheek. He seized the hand that lay upon his arm.
“Your highness,” he said, “do not grieve for the American. He is not worth it. He has deceived you. He is not at Blentz.”
The girl drew her hand from his and straightened to her full height.
“What do you mean, sire?” she exclaimed. “Mr. Custer would not deceive me even if he had an opportunity—which he has not had. But if he is not at Blentz, where is he?”
Barney bowed his head and looked at the floor.