“I’m downright sorry we went and captured Your Majesty,” he began.
“Her Imperial Highness does not understand English,” Jacqueline explained.
Then to her surprise the man proceeded in French. He was evidently greatly disturbed because Missouri hospitality did not harmonize with war. “It was a blunder,” he apologized earnestly, “come of our deciding just this morning to make you Europeans vacate our continent. But don’t let that worry Your Majesty. Here, under my roof, the decision doesn’t hold, at all!”
Berthe lifted her head quickly. It was her second promotion in the social scale that day. She had trembled when the door opened, for she knew that Rodrigo’s side had triumphed. But this tall stranger brought relief to one’s nerves, and somehow she had watched him trustingly. He was of the same race as Monsieur Driscoll, to whom also she had once turned instinctively for help. But when the tremendous young fellow 311addressed her with reverence due a queen, she felt only the respectful admiration due a pretty young woman. It unexpectedly awakened in her the knowledge that she was a pretty young woman; and with a winsomeness that amazed and delighted Jacqueline, to say nothing of its effect on Daniel, she gently put him right as to her identity.
“It doesn’t matter,” Boone protested stoutly, “you ought to be one!”
The door opened again. It struck the wall with an insolent bang, and in strode Don Rodrigo. Jacqueline noted who it was and indifferently seated herself in the rocking chair, with her back toward him. The Mexican advanced to the centre of the room. The brief twilight had fallen, and the place was in half light except for the blazing logs. He stopped rigid and flung his scarlet-lined cloak back over his shoulder.
“Where,” he demanded in the huge tones of a victorious general, “is the tyrant’s empress?”
No one volunteered as to where the tyrant’s empress might be. The toe of Jacqueline’s boot was indolently busy with the embers on the hearth. The heads of both girls were in shadow.
Rodrigo’s furrowed brow creased more deeply. “Which of you is she?” The heavy syllables dropped one by one. He stepped tentatively toward Berthe. So did Boone.
“Stand aside, señor!”