Prince, Ferdinand William Otto almost choked with excitement. “I have always wanted one,” he cried. “If you are certain you can spare him, I’ll be very good to him. No one,” he said, “ever gave me a dog before. I’d like to have him now, if I may.”
The crowd was growing. It pressed closer, pleased at the boy’s delight. Truly they were participating in great things. A small cheer and many smiles followed the lifting of the dog through the open window of the carriage. And the dog was surely a dog to be proud of. Already it shook hands with the Crown Prince.
Perhaps, in that motley gathering, there were some who viewed the scene with hostile eyes, some who saw, not a child glowing with delight over a gift, but one of the hated ruling family, a barrier, an obstacle in the way of freedom. But if such there were, they were few. It was, indeed, as the Terrorists feared. The city loved the boy.
Annunciata, followed by an irritated Hilda, came out of the shop. Hilda’s wardrobe had been purchased, and was not to her taste.
The crowd opened, hats were doffed, backs bent. The Archduchess moved haughtily, looking neither to the right nor left. Her coming brought no enthusiasm. Perhaps the curious imagination of the mob found her disappointing. She did not look like an Archduchess. She looked, indeed, like an unnamiable spinster of the middle class. Hilda, too, was shy and shrinking, and wore an unbecoming hat. Of the three, only the Crown Prince looked royal and as he should have looked.
“Good Heavens,” cried the Archduchess, and stared into the carriage. “Otto!”
“He is mine,” said the Crown Prince fondly. “He is the cleverest dog. He can do all sorts of things.”
“Put him out.”
“But he is mine,” protested Ferdinand William Otto. “He is a gift. That gentleman there, in the corduroy jacket—”
“Put him out,” said the Archduchess Annunciata.