The speakers swung out into the corridor; soldiers both, richly dressed.
They took no notice of Maria, and her useless brain attached no meaning to their presence or their words.
They strode out into the courtyard. The whole inn was full of noise and confusion, sudden lights and runnings to and fro.
Maria stood forgotten, not heeding or caring anything. Then she heard some one say, suddenly—
“The Prince is impatient to be gone——”
The Prince!
Her scattered wits caught at the word. She turned back into the chamber, now bright from end to end with the light of the torches in the courtyard outside; she took up the stiff white hand wrapped in the stained lace.
“The Prince,” she said.
For a moment her clouded brain cleared; she stepped into the corridor, looking about her, drawn erect.
The door of the parlour opposite was open wide now, and she could see, by the light of a tallow candle set on the table, a young man sitting gloomily, his cheek propped on his palm and his face hidden by his chestnut hair.