He stood still a few seconds in dead silence. Then he bent over the balustrade. The moonlight had not broken the darkness below.
"That is a boy's voice," he said in a low tone, "but I cannot see who is speaking."
"Yes, it is a boy's voice," it answered, in a way which somehow moved him, because it was so ardent. "It is the son of Stefan Loristan. The Lamp is lighted."
"Wait. I am coming down to you," the Prince said.
In a few minutes Marco heard a door open gently not far from where he stood. Then the man he had been following so many days appeared at his side.
"How long have you been here?" he asked.
"Before the gates closed. I hid myself in the hollow of the big shrub there, Highness," Marco answered.
"Then you were out in the storm?"
"Yes, Highness."
The Prince put his hand on the boy's shoulder. "I cannot see you—but it is best to stand in the shadow. You are drenched to the skin."