"Indeed, I do not wonder," cried the ready Princess; "maids are vexatious creatures, well called 'tirewomen.' But come—see the beautiful rooms I have chosen for you! Make haste and take off your cloak, and then I will come to you; I am fairly dying to talk. Ah, why did you not tell me that day? That was ill done. I would have ridden so gladly with you. It was a glorious thing to do, and has made you famous all over the world, they say. I have been thinking ever since what I can do to be upsides with you and make them talk about me. I will give them a surprise one day that shall be great as yours. But perhaps I may not wait till I am married to do it."
And she took her friend by the hand and with a light-hearted skipping motion convoyed her to her summer palace, kissed her again at the door, and shut her in with another imperious adjuration to be speedy.
"I will give you a quarter of an hour," she cried, as she lingered a moment; "then I will come to hear all your story, every word."
Then the false Princess staggered rather than walked to a chair, for brain and eye were reeling.
"God wot," she murmured; "strange things to hear, indeed! Sweet lady, you little know how strange! This is ten thousand times a straiter place to be in than when I played the Count von Löen. Ah, women, women, what you bring a poor innocent man to!"
So, without unhooking her cloak or even throwing back the hood, this sadly bewildered bride sat down and tried to select any hopeful line of action out of the whirling chaos of her thoughts. And even as she sat there a knock came sharply at the door.
CHAPTER XXX
LOVE'S CLEAR EYE
"And now," cried Princess Margaret, clapping her hands together impulsively, "now at last I shall hear everything. Why you went away, and who gave you up, and about the fighting. Ugh! the traitors, to betray you after all! I would have their heads off—and all to save their wretched town and the lives of some score of fat burghers!"