"It wasn't a plan; it was just an idea. It's gone now. Maybe it will come back later. Are you going to stay here, or come with me and tackle a bottle of the innkeeper's Rhine wine? The German vinegar used to make you hilarious."
"What's the coach for?" I asked. "Are they going to carry us off like a couple of chickens?"
"I presume it is for her Serene Highness. I wonder how they found out she was here? Probably the lieutenant you were going to fight, but didn't, informed them. At any rate, the coach will not be for us. The Prince will not bother with you and me while the Princess is here. I don't know what they will do with us; possibly nothing, possibly put us in jail. Come along; I'm thirsty."
It was late in the afternoon of the day following. I had not seen her Serene Highness, the Princess Hildegarde—Gretchen. She had remained in her room, and all efforts of mine to hold communication with her had proved futile. I had stood at her door and supplicated; she had told me to go away. The innkeeper had scowled when I suggested that he carry a note to his mistress. He had refused.
"The Princess receives no notes," he had said. "Gretchen—it was a different matter."
And Hillars had slept till after noon. It had been a bad morning for me. The wounded lieutenant had been carried away the night before, and there had not been anything for me to do but wander about—waiting.
"Will you help me with the Rhine wine?" asked Hillars.
"No. My head is fuddled enough as it is."
"Then you must let me do all the talking."
"And why you?"