“Very well, your highness. They shall be struck off this morning.”
“In large type, Gaspon. You must catch him if you can,” she added. “He is a very dangerous man and royalty needs protection.” With this wise bit of caution she dismissed the subject and began to talk of the storm.
As the two young plotters were hastening up the stairs later on, an attendant approached and informed the Princess that Mr. Anguish requested an audience.
“Conduct him to my boudoir,” she said, her eyes sparkling with triumph. In the seclusion of the boudoir she and the Countess laughed like children over the reward that had been so solemnly ordered.
“Five thousand gavvos!” cried Dagmar, leaning back in her chair, to emphasize the delight she felt. “What a joke!”
Tap, tap! came a knock on the door, and in the same instant it flew open, for Mr. Anguish was in a hurry. As he plunged into their presence a pair of heels found the floor spasmodically.
“Oh, I beg pardon!” he gasped, as if about to fly. “May I come in?”
“Not unless you go outside. You are already in, it seems,” said the Princess, advancing to meet him. The Countess was very still and sedate. “I am so glad you have come.”
“Heard about Lorry? The fool is out and gone,” he cried, unable to restrain himself. Without a word she dragged him to the divan, and, between them, he soon had the whole story poured into his ears, the Princess on one side, the Countess on the other.
“You are a wonder!” he exclaimed, when all the facts were known to him. He executed a little dance of approval, entirely out of place in the boudoir of a princess, but very much in touch with prevailing sentiment. “But what's to become of me?” he asked, after cooling down. “I have no excuse for remaining in Graustark and I don't like to leave him here, either.”