“Yes, lady, yes; look after your husband while the surgeons are busy with his Highness. Milordo is not much hurt, and one of the doctors will be at your service in a moment. Yes, the miscreant is dead.”
An aide-de-camp moved aside, and Danaë was inside the ring. Two or three surgeons were kneeling round Prince Romanos, and a sailor, one of the yacht’s crew, who had evidently been among the crowd of spectators, was supporting Armitage’s head. He spoke little Greek, but Danaë gathered that he expected her to faint at the sight of blood, and was trying to assure her that her husband was not dead. But the daughter of the Christodoridi did not come of a fighting race for nothing. She examined the wound quite coolly, and to her intense relief found that though Armitage was unconscious, and had lost a good deal of blood, the bullet seemed to have grazed rather than penetrated the skull. With the sailor’s help she tied up the wound roughly, and then became aware that the crowd was growing less dense. The aides-de-camp had mounted again, and were riding among the excited people. “His Highness was not dangerously hurt, but the doctors considered it advisable that he should return to the Palace at once. To his great regret, therefore, the review must conclude at this point.” After this plain intimation the spectators could hardly refuse to disperse, the foreign representatives setting the example. One of the surgeons had been prevailed upon by this time to tear himself from the side of Prince Romanos, and Danaë was helping him to strap up her husband’s head, when she found herself addressed by the Professor.
“Lady, the doctors think it best to take his Highness to the Palace in your carriage, rather than wait while another is fetched. It shall return for you immediately.”
“But let it take Milordo as well!” she cried indignantly.
“It is impossible, lady. Two of the surgeons and I myself must accompany the Prince. My wife, with her admirable common-sense, has already driven off to see that everything is prepared for his Highness’s arrival, or I would have ventured to offer you her carriage. But you shall be sent for at once.”
The Professor seemed anxious and perturbed, though not unduly so, and Danaë could not wonder at his preoccupation when she saw her brother carried past, evidently only half conscious, his white lips murmuring something about a paper, and his hands wandering on the folds of the cloak that was thrown over him. But her present concern was entirely with Armitage, and until his wound had been properly dressed she had no thought to spare for anyone else. When it was done she looked up to find the British Consul-General standing beside her. The other foreign representatives had departed long ago, Herr Melchthal, whose wife was in violent hysterics, leading the way as senior member of the diplomatic body, but Mrs Wildsmith was still standing beside her carriage in the distance.
“My wife asks me to take the liberty of offering you our carriage, Lady Armitage,” said the Consul.
“She is very good,” said Danaë, “but mine will return in a moment.”
“Then will you permit us to remain with you till it comes?”
“But I am not frightened,” she said, astonished. “The doctor is here, and the escort.”