The Duke laughed and held up his hand, the back and palm covered with plaster.
“This wasn’t made by a bullet, cousin;” he replied; “I got it this morning from a new pet I was trying to train.—No, I didn’t get your last message.”
“Better get it to-day, cousin,” said the Archduke, as he turned away; “to-morrow is rather uncertain.”
XV
FOUR O’CLOCK AT THE INN
Ten miles out, on the Titian Road, is the Inn of the Twisted Pines. Something more than two centuries of storms and sunshine have left its logs and plaster wrinkled and weather-beaten, yet the house stands as stanch and strong as the day the last pin was driven, and the painted sign and the bunch of furze hung above the entrance.
The old soldier who built it had lived long enough to marry a young wife, and leave it to her and a sturdy boy; and, thereafter, there was always a son to take the father’s place; and with the heirship seemed to go the inherited obligation to maintain the house exactly as received. No modernity showed itself within or without; the cooking alone varied, as it reflected the skill or whim of the particular mistress; and it chanced that the present one was of unusual ability in that particular; and the knowledge of it coming to the Capital, had brought not a little trade of riding parties and the officers of the garrison.
And so Captain Hertz, of the Third Lancers, had not done quite the usual growl, when he got the order to march at once with his troop, selecting such a route as would bring him to the Inn a few minutes before four o’clock, taking care to approach it from the West; and to halt there and await further instructions.
He had confided to his subaltern that it was a crazy sort of proceeding to be manœuvring against old Scartman’s Inn; but if it had to be done, it was at least considerate to choose as the objective point, a place where they could have a good meal to eat, and the keeper’s pretty daughters to philander.
And between thinking of the victuals and the damsels, the Captain so hurried the march that they reached the Inn unnecessarily early; yet they had no reason to regret it, for the tap-room was cool and pleasant, the food to their taste, and the girls’ cheeks prettier and softer than ever—though it would seem that, lately, the last were becoming much more difficult to taste.
“What’s got into the hussies?” Hertz demanded, rubbing his face, as the Lieutenant and he went out into the courtyard; “They used to be mild enough.”