“He has the devil in him,” Ompertz exclaimed wrathfully. “Now between him and the Chancellor, who has the infernal touch too, I fear, you may say good-bye to the chance of getting the Lieutenant free. And I had my prayer answered and my fingers round that villain’s throat. It was wicked to fling away the chance.”
“Yes, I am sorry now,” Ruperta agreed, showing not half the intense regret she felt. “But I am not going to submit myself tamely as a victim to these outrages and false dealings. I am going to Beroldstein.”
“You, Princess? To Beroldstein?”
“Alone,” she answered resolutely. “I will appeal to the King of Drax-Beroldstein, since the Duke of Waldavia, my own father, cannot help me.”
“But the King of Drax-Beroldstein,” Ompertz objected, “is not Ludovic, but Ferdinand.”
“So much the better,” she returned. “It makes my task less disagreeable and scarcely more doubtful.”
He recognized the hideous complications which made her plan so hopeless, yet he saw no sufficient reason for breaking his pledge of secrecy. After all, Ludovic’s release was the great thing to try for; in the interests of that, the less known of his identity the better.
“I may go with you, Princess? The horses——”
“No,” she replied. “I should like your escort, but cannot take you hence. It will be something for me to know that one trusty heart is left near Ludovic. But I fear. What can you do for my Ludovic against those cruel villains, the Count and Rollmar?” She turned away in an access of heart-chilling despair, then next moment had recovered herself.
“Come, let us not lose another instant,” she said resolutely. “You must find me an escort among the soldiers. Surely there are some who will run this risk for their Princess, for any woman, indeed, who is in such a dire strait as I.”