There came a knocking at the door.
"Enter!" cried Joan imperiously, yet not a little glad of the interruption.
Werner von Orseln stood in the portal. Joan waited for him to speak.
"My lady," he said, "will you bid the Count von Löen leave his work and take some rest and sustenance. He thinks of nothing but his drill."
"Oh, yes, he does," cried the Princess Margaret; "how dare you say it, fellow! He thinks of me! Why, even now——"
She looked once more out of the window, a smile upon her face. Instantly she drew in her head again and sprang to her feet.
"Oh, he is gone! I cannot see him anywhere!" she cried, "and I never so much as heard them go! Joan, I am going to find him. He should not have gone away without bidding me goodbye! It was cruel!"
She flashed out of the room, and without waiting for tiring maid or coverture, she ran downstairs, dressed as she was in her light summer attire.
Joan stood a moment silent, looking after her with eyes in which flashed a tender light. Werner von Orseln smiled broadly—the dry smile of an ancient war-captain who puts no bounds to the vagaries of women. It was an experienced smile.
"'Tis well for Kernsberg, my lady," said Werner grimly, "that you are not the Princess Margaret."