But he was still far from the recovery of his full vigour, and spent most of the day looking from a window seat, his shoulders leaning against cushions because of his wounds, upon the passing trivialities of the street, while the aide-de-camp was out about his military duties.
It was while he was thus employed that his soldier servant announced, "A high-born lady visiting the sick, colonel!"
Wondering what new adventure this might be, he bade the soldier bring her up.
First came a sour-visaged dame, whom Nigel half recognised and then decided that he did not. Hard on her heels came one that brought a sudden flush into his pallor. It was the Archduchess Stephanie.
It was clearly as unexpected on her part. But with wonderful presence of mind she entreated him not to rise, and bade her maid set down her basket and wait below.
Then as the door closed she sprang to him.
"Nigel! My love, Nigel! In Ratisbon!"
She knelt at his side, and placing his arm about her neck laid her face against his, and crooned softly to him as she would have done to a babe.
And he could say little but press her dear hand closer to him and whisper "Stephanie! You too in Ratisbon!"