After the duke’s words of welcome, the heroic maiden was to pass beneath an archway of these swords crossed above her, like Maria Theresa between her Magyars; and, as she issued from beneath their deadly glitter, joyous hymns would break forth, and little children strew flowers before her as a symbol of days of happiness after days of battle. Then would begin the triumphal march toward the Hall of the Throne.
All hearts were beating, for now they could perceive the boat coming toward them. Caracal fixed his monocle, like the powerful and subtle observer that he was, and made ready to note everything.
Religious silence took the place of the tumult of voices. They could see distinctly in the boat two young women holding each other by the hand. Each of them was dressed with great simplicity: it was Helia and Ethel. The light of the torches flashed vividly upon them. They seemed to rise out of the night; and when the sailors lifted their oars to disembark them on the landing where the duke was waiting, there was not a gesture, not a cry. The people heeded only them. No attention was given to the two personages following them, a young girl and a young man—Suzanne and Phil.
The duke bowed low before Ethel, taking her hand with an impassioned and reverent gesture. Then he spoke. Those who were near him could hear his voice tremble.
“How am I to thank you, Miss Rowrer, you who have saved my son! Morgania also owes you everything; without you I know the villayets of Albania would have arisen. Everything was ready to crush us! But the defeat of the enemy, exaggerated from mouth to mouth, has taken on proportions of a disaster! You have done what, before you, my ancestresses, Thilda, Rhodaïs, and Bertha, did; and like Morgana herself you have brought back in your arms the luck of Morgania, my son Adalbert! Behold all this people: for them you are she whom our legends of a thousand years announce! Miss Rowrer, I owe you everything; my whole life will not be sufficient for the acknowledgment of your services!”
“Monseigneur,” interrupted Ethel, in a grave voice, “the heroine, the valiant woman, she who expected no recompense, who knew the danger and coolly faced it, she whom your legends announce, and who has saved your people and your child: it is not I—it is Helia!”
And taking Helia by the hand, Miss Rowrer made her pass in front of her, while she herself stood modestly back.
There was a little of everything in his “Ah!” A man falling from a balloon must utter such an “Ah!” when he crashes against the ground.
Meanwhile, twice the cheers burst forth. Hymns of welcome were intoned, for silence had been kept till then. The duke had appeared to be addressing himself to both the young girls. The people did not know exactly which one might be the duchess; but their enthusiasm knew no bounds all the same. A great eddy pushed the crowd in a mass along the way to the castle, amid the blare of trumpets and rattling of rifle-shots. The voivodes formed the archway of steel above the heads of the duke and Helia, followed by Ethel. Endless cheering saluted them: “Long live the duke! Long live the duchess! Long live Morgana!”