“Slightly,” answered Anguish, smiling. He was watching a trim figure in a tailor-made gown as it approached, drawing apart from the throng. It was Mrs. Harry Van Brugh Anguish.
“Say, you must cut some ice wid dese people. But dat's jest like an American, dough,” the little guard went on. “De Princess married an American an' dey say he's goin' to put d' crown away where d' moths won't git at it an' take her over to live in Washington fer six months. Is it a sure t'ing?”
“That's right, Sitzky. She's going back with us and then we're coming back with her.”
“Why don't he keep 'er over dere when he gits her dere? What's d' use—what's d' use?”
“Well, she's still the Princess of Graustark, you know, Sitzky. She can't live always in America.”
“Got to be here to hold her job, eh?”
“Inelegant but correct. Now, look sharp! Where do we find our—Ah!” His wife was with him and he forgot Sitzky.
The guard turned to watch the procession—a file of soldiers, a cavalry troop, carriages and then—the carriage with spirited horses and gay accoutrements. It stopped with a jangle and a man and woman descended.
“The Princess!” cried Sitzky.
“Long live the Princess!” cried the crowd. “God save our Yetive!”