caught the clank of their sabres or the clink of their spurs.
"The Emperor's private letter to me informs me that it is the Marquis Château St. Arnaud who is bearing his despatches," said the Prince.
"The Marquis has been foully murdered," I answered, and a buzz rose up from the people as I spoke. Many heads were turned, I noticed, towards the dark men in the cloaks.
"Where are your papers?" asked the Prince.
"I have none."
A fierce clamour rose instantly around me. "He is a spy! He plays a part!" they cried. "Hang him!" roared a deep voice from the corner, and a dozen others took up the shout. For my part, I drew out my handkerchief and flicked the dust from the fur of my pelisse. The Prince held out his thin hands, and the tumult died away.
"Where, then, are your credentials, and what is your message?"
"My uniform is my credential, and my message is for your private ear."
He passed his hand over his forehead with the gesture of a weak man who is at his wits' end what to do. The Princess stood beside him with her hand upon his throne, and again whispered in his ear.
"We are here in council together, some of my trusty subjects and myself," said he. "I have no
