“I cannot consent to that, Baroness,” said Cyril. “You could not support the fatigues of the journey, and moreover, your presence will be needed here. Have you any preference as to your attendant, madame?”
“I should like to have Fräulein von Staubach if—if you—if it would not do any harm,” faltered the Queen.
“That is the very selection I would have ventured to suggest, madame. Fräulein von Staubach speaks Thracian well, and although the passport is made out for a German, we may find it desirable to change our disguise after a time. May I beg of you, Fräulein, to dress yourself to play the part of a nurse, and to see that the King is warmly wrapped up? Will you also pack a small bag with necessaries for her Majesty, and another for yourself. They must not be too large to be carried conveniently in the hand, for we have to cross the park on foot before we can reach the vehicle which is awaiting us. And pray waste no time. Every minute is precious.”
The three ladies disappeared promptly, and Cyril stood waiting for what seemed to him to be hours. He curbed his impatience, and whiled away the time by making one or two final arrangements with M. Stefanovics; but they had both relapsed into an uneasy silence before Baroness von Hilfenstein entered the room, and beckoned Cyril out of earshot of the chamberlain.
“You think success is possible in this enterprise of yours, Count?”
“Certainly possible, Baroness; and possibly certain.”
“I did not come to ask you to play upon words,” very severely.
“I ask your pardon, Baroness. The danger has excited me. I think I must be fey.”
“I do not know that word, my dear Count.”
“It only means that some one is walking over my grave, Baroness.”