He passed out, the Count following him soberly. The two cavalrymen thrust their sabres into the scabbards with a clank, and made as though to follow.
"Wait," said Gretchen. "I shall have need of you. You will escort me to the station. Now you may go."
They saluted gravely. They appreciated the situation. The Princess was their bread and butter.
"Your Highness," said Hillars, "there has been a mistake."
"A mistake?" repeated Gretchen, wonderingly.
"Yes. They have made you a Princess, whereas they should have made you a Queen. Will you forgive me the trouble I have caused?"
"It is I who must ask forgiveness of you," she said, with a sad smile.
"You may kiss my hand, sir."
Hillars remained somewhat long over it.
"And how comes it that you gentlemen know each other?" she asked.
"Damon and Pythias, Your Highness," answered Hillars. "We were brought up together, and we have shared our tents and kettles. I recommend Pythias to you as a brave gentleman." Then he came to me. "You are a brave fellow, Jack," grasping my hand. "Good luck to you. I had an idea; it has returned. Now, then, innkeeper, come with me."