There was a slightly self-reproachful smile on his thin lips as he motioned Ludovic to a seat and stood before him, keenly revolving this unexpected phase of the situation.
“You have heard, Baron, about the Princess?” Ludovic asked rapidly.
Rollmar bowed assent. “A pretty pass your Highness has brought your romance to.”
He seemed not to care to ask or require any personal confirmation of the news of Ludovic’s identity; he was shrewd and skilful enough to see that the man before him was undoubtedly royal, although, owing, perhaps, to his keenness having been diverted to another scent, what seemed now so obvious had previously escaped his notice. His remark had a touch of humour which softened its reproach.
“No one,” Ludovic replied, “naturally can regret this unlooked-for turn more terribly than I. The matter now is to rescue the Princess, and without a moment’s unnecessary delay.”
To his impatience, Rollmar’s deliberation was provoking. “Ah! Unfortunately, as we hear, sire, you are not in a position to effect the rescue yourself.”
For the moment Ludovic did not take his meaning. “By myself? Assuredly not. You must know this Count Irromar and his stronghold, Baron. It will require a considerable force to bring him to capitulate.”
Rollmar nodded agreement. “Which your Highness cannot provide.”
“From Beroldstein? No.” Ludovic replied, a little awkwardly. “I fear I have trouble there to face.”
“Ah!” The Chancellor’s ejaculation was expressive, inscrutably so, in the suggestion of busy thought lying behind it “You would have done better, sire, to have looked after your crown, and left your love affair in my hands.”