“No, no! you must not belittle it.”
“If it had not been for Lieutenant von Mitter—”
“Whither were you going, Monsieur?” interrupted the Voice.
“Nowhere; that is, I was going toward my hotel.”
“The Continental?”
“Yes, your Highness.”
“Step into the carriage, Monsieur;” the Voice had the ring of command. “I will put you down there. It is the least that I can do to show my gratitude.”
“I—I to ride with your Highness?” he stammered. “O, no! I—that is—it would scarcely be—”
“You are not afraid of me, Monsieur?” with a smile which, though it had a bit of the rogue in it, was rather sad. She moved to the other side of the seat and put the dog on the rug at her feet. “Perhaps you are proud? Well, Monsieur, I too am proud; so proud that I promise never to forgive you if you refuse to gratify my wish.”
“I was not thinking of myself, your Highness, or rather I was. I am not presentable. Look at me; my hat is out of shape, my clothes dusty, and I dare say that my face needs washing.”