"I thought I would never see you again, dear ones," he said huskily. "I simply can't tell you now what we have been through. All I can say is that in the final encounter, as the enemy passed Lodz, my dear father was desperately wounded. I missed him, and searched for him. When I found him he was unconscious. Mother, I thought he was dead. But he lived, and under cover of darkness we carried him to the house of our Aunt Francoise. She has turned it into a hospital, mother, and all the forty rooms are filled with soldiers. Well, father had good care then, for all the rush Aunt Francoise had him taken to the hidden chapel in the east wall, and it is quiet and safe. But you must come and care for him, mother, for there are not enough nurses by half, and the men suffer so."
"Where was he injured, Ignaee?" asked the Princess, shuddering. The boy hesitated.
"Mother dear, it is pretty bad, but I have see it so much worse. He has lost his left arm."
The Princess covered her eyes. "Oh, my dear, my dear!" she murmured.
"How can I bear this for you?"
"It might be far worse," said Ignace cheerily. "We must start back to him tonight. Did you save any of the motor cars?" He turned to Michael.
"Two, your Excellency," said the man. "They are hidden in a haystack down past the woods at the end of the estate. The large touring car, and your racer."
"Good!" said Ignace; then suddenly, "Where is my little Rika?"
At once the Princess and Modjeska commenced the story of her loss, and all the other events leading up to the appearance of the Morrises and the strange coincidence of their having found the little girl.
Ignace listened breathlessly.
Once more the silver knob fell. Someone else was coming.