Nor did he imagine that all unwittingly he had sent his master far astray; for the Princess had gone but a little way by the North Avenue, and then had circled over to the South gate.
And so Armand searched vainly, until at last, bearing around toward Dornlitz, he struck the main highway and learned that she had passed long since, making for the Capital as fast as horse could run. And he knew that the Bell had been the messenger, and that there was now naught for him to do but to return with all speed and give such comfort as he might. Though what to do or to say he had no idea—for never before had he been called upon to minister to a woman’s grief; and he pondered upon it with a misgiving that was at its deepest when, at length, he stood outside her door and heard her bid the servant to admit him.
But if he looked for tears and trembling he was disappointed, for she met him as she had met those in the corridor and the ante-room, dry-eyed and calmly. And in silence he took her in his arms, and held her close, and stroked her shining hair.
And presently she put his arms aside, and stepping back, she curtsied low and very gravely.
“Life to Your Majesty!” she said; “long live the King!” and kissed his hand.
He raised her quickly. “Never bend knee to me, Dehra,” he said. “And believe me, I had quite forgot everything except that you had lost your father.”
She went back to him. “And so had I, dear, until you came; but now, since he is gone, you are all I have—is it very selfish, then, for me to think of you so soon?”
He drew her to a chair and stood looking down at her.
“If it is,” he said, “I am surely not the one to judge you.”
She shook her head sadly. “There is no one to judge but—him,” she answered; “and he, I know, would give me full approval.” She was silent for a while, her thoughts in the darkened room across the court, where the tapers burned dimly, and a Captain of the Guard kept watch. And her heart sobbed afresh, though her lips were mute and her eyes undimmed. At last she spoke.