“Helia’s cart was at the head of the convoy, and the other wagons followed, filled with the wounded. Phil galloped along on an Albanian horse with red-and-white trappings. Will remained in the village, to organize the resistance. I went back to the city with Suzanne, on Helia’s cart.
“It was a triumphal march. All these poor people and ourselves, whom she had saved from massacre, had eyes only for her. But she had no air of happiness! She had a slight wound in the forehead. From time to time a drop of blood fell on her gown and made a red stain. This streak of blood marked her out to the crowd. The cheers redoubled, and little children threw kisses toward her. She was indifferent to it all, and looked only at the little red stain.
“‘Oh, my pretty gown,’ she said, ‘my pretty bridal gown is ruined!’
“The road through the valley is much shorter than that over the mountain. We were to get to the city by night, just before day-dawn. Oh, what a vision, never to be forgotten, was that night journey! You cannot believe how quickly the tidings traveled, in this country without telegraphs or railroad. Horsemen went galloping before us. When we passed through a village there were cries of joy and men dancing by the light of torches. Priests bearing golden crosses blessed us as we passed. Helia’s exploits grew from mouth to mouth, and this explained the ever-increasing enthusiasm. She had killed eight enemies with her own hand, had stopped the invasion and saved the convoy from massacre! At Gradiska she had killed twenty, and at Kolo more still.
“‘You will see,’ Helia said to me; ‘by the time we get to the city I shall have killed the Grand Vizir and the Sultan!’
“Our escort kept on growing. It was grand when we entered the city. Helia had been hoping to find every one asleep. You would have thought you were going into a bee-hive! They wished to carry Helia in triumph to the castle. But the duke was not there—he was off on the excursion along the coast. The people will never pardon him for not having been present to share their joy and cheer the heroine.
“To wind up: I don’t know how we did it, but we got back to the yacht all the same, broken and bruised and delighted, deafened by the cries, and blinded by the lights.
“Every one is resting except myself. I cannot stay quiet, and I profit by my sleeplessness to write you. Well, what did I tell you? Are you not sorry to have missed a thing like that? And I will have other things to tell you when I have the pleasure to see you again, my dear Yvonne....
“P.S. The heavens are mixing themselves up in the event. You have heard of the Fata Morgana—that wonderful mirage effect along the coast of the Adriatic (it comes from the evaporation of hot air in the lower layers, changing refraction to reflection, and so forth, and so forth; but people here simply attribute it to a fairy’s enchantments).
“However that may be, I am finishing this letter just as the sun is rising, and the sky is marvelous. I am looking at great streaks of blood and crumbling towers and golden crowns—all changing form every moment. You can see in it what you wish; but, always, it is beautiful.”