It was not necessary, happily, to settle this point, and Cyril devoted himself to trying to cheer the tired horses to greater exertions, to the end that as little time might be wasted as possible. When the posting-station was reached, the fears expressed by Paschics proved to be only too well founded. True, it was possible to obtain a carriage; but it was old and dilapidated, and needed a thorough cleaning, and the only horses that could draw it were engaged in farm-work at some distance off, and must be brought in by the man who was to act as driver. All this would take some time—so long, indeed, that, as the post-keeper shrewdly observed, it would be as well for the travellers to wait a little longer and lunch before starting, since there was no inn to be found until they reached the little town where they would probably wish to spend the night. Cyril communicated this piece of advice to the Queen, and she begged him immediately to act upon it. Somewhat surprised by her tone, he obeyed.
“And now,” she said, when he returned after making the necessary arrangements, “I insist that you and Carlo shall take possession of that room,” pointing to the solitary apartment devoted to the accommodation of travellers, “and get some rest. Do you think I do not know that you have had no sleep all night?”
“In your service it is our duty never to feel fatigue,” said Cyril, with a bow.
“Then it is quite clear that neither of you is equal to his duty. Suppose you find it impossible to sleep again to-night, in what condition will you be? I shall refuse to intrust my life to your care. Come—Arthur—you will be able to get nearly three hours’ rest, if you don’t waste time. I command you, Count.”
“Madame, I obey, if it is only to keep you from such imprudences as that last speech.” The Queen, who had stamped her foot vehemently as she spoke, looked nonplussed for a moment, and then blushed hotly, and Cyril went on. “I must warn you again that the slightest indiscretion may ruin our chance of escape. And how do you mean to pass the morning, Lilian, if we take possession of the only room?”
“Oh, we will sit in the kitchen with the post-keeper’s wife,” she replied, recovering herself quickly, “and help her to prepare our lunch. You need not be afraid of my being indiscreet, for you know that I speak no Thracian, and Sophie—Julie, I mean—is much too prudent to interpret anything dangerous. I promise you that we will not go out in front of the house—we are far too much frightened. Now au revoir, Monsieur my brother!”
Cyril retired obediently, and she turned in triumph to Fräulein von Staubach.
“Do you say I am selfish now, Sophie?”
“I am sure, madame, that I have never ventured——”
“Oh yes, you have. You venture to say a good deal sometimes. But you will never be able to say that again, at any rate. Do you know that I am in such a state of terror that I could almost scream? My nerves are all on edge, and I feel as if the only thing that would calm me would be to make Count Mortimer talk to me the whole morning, and yet I have sent him to rest.”