There was a moment's silence, and the Princess looked at me, inquiringly, as it appeared to me. I nodded to her, and she parted her lips. Sweet and soft and plaintive were the strains of that old-world song. Ah, how strangely did that slender voice of beauty touch the heart, while Mademoiselle had sung in vain with all her art and accomplishment:
Den Lieben langen Tag
Hab ich nur Schmerz und Plag
Und darf am Abend doch nit weine.
Wen ich am Fendersteh,
Und in die Nacht nei seh,
So ganz alleine, so muss ich weine.
Her voice had scarce died away gently when a sound from without drew my ears, and I turned towards the door. The Prince had closed his eyes and lay back in his chair as if he slept, and his face was that of a happy child. Motioning to the Princess to let him stay so, undisturbed, I moved to the door and opened it noiselessly. I heard Legrand's voice raised high as if in angry altercation, and I stepped into the corridor and closed the door behind me. I hurried down to the barricade and found Barraclough and Legrand struggling furiously.
"Shame!" I called, "shame! What is it?" and I pulled Legrand back. "He has only one arm, man," I said reproachfully.
"I don't care if he has none. He's betrayed us," cried Legrand, savagely angry.