“I don’t think it will be so, or I should not go, but I think it is possible that such an attempt might be made. Consider Janni, Olimpia, if you will not consider yourself.”
“I am considering myself,” she said quickly; “or rather, I am considering the dignity of your wife. The Princess of Emathia may be pardoned a little pride, Romanos—may she not? But Janni is in danger, you say? Well, then, I well yield as far as this. You may post your guards round the house at night. Arrange matters with Despina, and let me hear nothing of them. They must be gone before I come out of doors in the morning, and they must only arrive after dark—I will not walk in the garden late. I will not see or be seen by any more of your subjects till you acknowledge me; that piece of pride I keep. But we shall be protected, according to your wish; for I suppose even you do not expect a murderous attack to be made upon us in the daytime?”
“No, I think that ought to be enough,” he said reluctantly. “I shall be a little happier in my mind, knowing that the garden is thoroughly patrolled. Accept your poet’s gratitude, my Princess, and vouchsafe him a gracious farewell. I have innumerable things to do before I join Theophanis and Glafko this afternoon. They start this morning, with a patriarchal paraphernalia of tents and baggage-mules, for the fancy for exploring their proposed new route forbids their making use of the railway, and I catch them up, travelling light. But I dare not stay longer.”
“And poor Despina will be distracted by the delay in her marketing,” said the Lady lightly. She took her husband’s arm, and walked with him into the garden, Danaë following with Janni in her arms, and the little iron wedge which Petros had given her clasped tightly in her hand. The Lady remained out of sight of the gate, but while his father was speaking to Despina, Janni clamoured to see the horses, and Danaë carried him to watch the riders mount. She hardly knew how she could contrive to slip the wedge into the lock, for Despina, fuming with impatience, was clearly in a desperate hurry. To add to her irritation, the horse which Petros rode began to dance hither and thither, apparently desiring to go anywhere rather than through the gate, and in his efforts to control it, Petros caught his spur in the old woman’s embroidered apron, and the stuff only yielded with a jagged tear. Then the horse went through the gateway with a bound, and Petros was left sitting on the ground with an expression of such intense astonishment that even Despina, while reviling him loudly, could hardly help laughing.
“Come on, Petraki! What’s the matter?” cried his master, turning round.
“I knew something would happen when we met that priest just as we were starting, my Prince,” moaned Petros lugubriously, noting with the tail of his eye that Danaë, venturing as far as the doorpost in sympathetic curiosity, had slipped the wedge into the hole.
“If you hadn’t been so clumsy, nothing would have happened, fellow,” snapped Despina, contemplating her ruined apron. “I didn’t meet a priest, so why should I be unlucky?”
“And I did meet him, and nothing has happened to me,” said Prince Romanos gaily. “Get yourself a new apron with that, old mother, and don’t croak. Make haste, friend Petros,” as the sentry brought up the horse, which he had captured; “or shall I send the police for you with an ambulance?”
“O my Prince, I think I can get to the Palace,” said Petros, rising with many groans, “but after that——”
“You will have to go on the sick-list instead of coming into the country with me. That’s where my ill-luck comes in,” said the Prince, as his retainer hoisted himself with tremendous difficulty into the saddle.