"Mademoiselle Petrowa! Now what, on the word of a bald-headed friar, was she doing there?" exclaimed Crane.
A soft voice, proceeding from some point close behind him, spoke up.
"It is indeed the great pleasure that Mistaire Crane has recovered. One judges from his choice of words that he is feeling much the better."
"I have a double duty to perform then—to thank you for saving my life and to lecture you for your folly in being where you could do it," said Crane, with a return of his habitual manner.
"My good friend, the brave Mistaire Crane will please forget the thanks and save the lectures until he is stronger," insisted Anna. "If I have been foolish, it has been in the best company. Her highness was helping in the search for you."
"Yes, they both insisted on coming along," put in Fenton. "I had the greatest difficulty in keeping them off the firing-line. If all the women of Ironia are as fiery as the pair I've had on my hands to-night, I shall feel the deepest compassion for any army that attempts the invasion of the country!"
"I'll never forgive myself for this night's work," said Crane dejectedly. "I bungled things badly in not getting away in time. Then Mademoiselle has to risk her very valuable life to save my very worthless one——"
It was still dark. A soft hand from somewhere was slipped confidingly into his. Crane did not finish the sentence.
A moment later a gipsy-clad girl, who had been sitting silently by during the dialogue, rose unobtrusively and led Fenton away.
"I am glad," whispered the princess. "I don't mind confessing now that I have been very jealous of your Mademoiselle Petrowa."