“Your Highness is ill!”
The Prince took a step forward and fell into his friend’s arms, completely unconscious.
“My God!” whispered Bentinck.
He pushed open the door and called M. Beverningh, who came showing a frightened face.
M. Bentinck lifted the Prince easily enough and carried him into the kitchen.
M. de Zuylestein was awake now and poring over a map on the polished table.
He got to his feet with a little exclamation under his breath.
As they had no manner of bed or couch they laid the Prince on some cloaks along the floor.
In a bewildered way they looked at each other.