“But do you think I am going to compromise myself in this way out of pure philanthropy?” said Cyril. “I insist on being asked to the wedding.”
“Then I fear that you will be obliged to escort the bride all the way to my house, while I start off on foot,” said the Prince, “for I have not brought another horse.”
“The honour is only too great,” returned Cyril. “I am determined that nothing shall do me out of my share of the fun. Why, I daresay you have never even thought of getting hold of any one to propose the health of the bridal pair, and I’ve been told I’m rather good at that sort of thing.”
“No; I have not, indeed,” said the Prince. “You are in earnest? Then I will give you your directions, and part from you here. When you have delivered your message, and left the castle, knock three times at the postern-door close to the angle of the wall on this side. If the mistress of the household opens it, say that you are come on my behalf to fetch Fräulein von Staubach.”
“What? the lectrice?” asked Cyril.
“Yes; Fräulein von Staubach is the Queen’s lectrice and secretary. You know her?” the Prince asked, rather anxiously.
“I have caught a glimpse of her once or twice—just enough to see that she was a fair-haired girl in spectacles. She doesn’t show up as much as some of the other ladies.”
“No; she is generally busy writing the Queen’s letters. But you will know her when you see her? The Princess might play you a trick. She has a mole on the back of her left wrist.”
“Oh, I shall know her all right. Then, when I have got her safe, we have only to mount and ride away, I suppose?”
“Yes; the horses are here, you see, tied to this tree.”