“None other than your father’s minister. You see, Princess, he has told me who you are, and so shamed my blindness and temerity. Dare I ask for pardon?”
She gave an inclination of her head, a limited acceptance of his apology. “What has Baron von Rollmar come for?” she asked.
“For you, Princess.”
Her look justified his calling the news of doubtful acceptability. And, as it jumped with his project, he noticed it with satisfaction.
“He is here to conduct you back to Waldenthor.”
It was true enough, yet the full, plain truth was scarcely apparent to her. Having no knowledge, save by vague guessing, of what had taken place outside the castle during her captivity, she could not be expected to comprehend the real urgency which had brought the old minister so far.
“To take me back to Waldenthor?” she repeated.
Irromar gave a confirmatory nod. “At least, he takes you with him and his party. I am here to have the honour of conducting you to his Excellency.”
Ruperta thought of the fortress of Krell, and showed no alacrity at the prospect of the meeting.
“You had another piece of news,” she said, suddenly remembering it.