Armand, bending over the sheet, did not hear her.
“What did you make out of this, Major?” he asked; “there seems to be nothing on the key to explain it—might it be intended to indicate a secret passage from the second floor of the keep to the postern?”
“That puzzled me also,” said Meux, “but your explanation, sir, seems very likely.—Possibly old Jessac might know something; he has been here for more than seventy years, as a boy, and upper servant, and steward, and now as sort of steward emeritus and general reminiscer; and he has the legends and history of this castle at his tongue’s end.”
“Yes,” said the Princess, “if anyone know, it’s Jessac, and I think he served for a time in Lotzen Castle—have him here, Major, if you please.”
The old man came, tall, slender, shrivelled of face, white and thin of hair, yet erect and vigorous, despite his almost four and a half score years. They raised men, and kept them long, in the tingling, snapping, life-giving air of the Voragian mountains.
“Don’t kneel, Jessac,” the Regent exclaimed, giving him her hand.
He bent and kissed it with the most intense devotion.
“My little Princess! my little Princess!” he repeated; “God is good to have let old Jessac see you once more before he dies.” Then he straightened, and, turning sharply toward the Archduke, scanned him with an intentness almost savage. Suddenly his hand rose in salute. “Yes, you’re a man, and a Dalberg, too—the finest Dalberg these old eyes ever saw.”
And Armand understood, and went to him, and took his hand, and held it.
“Every one loves her, Jessac,” he said, “but none quite as you and I.” Then he drew him over to the table. “Do you know the interior of Lotzen Castle?” he asked.