of the road. It came heavily creaking, and a little ahead of it a traveller was soberly walking, note-book in hand.
‘It is Sir John,’ cried Otto, and he hailed him.
The Baronet pocketed his note-book, stared through an eye-glass, and then waved his stick; and he on his side, and the Countess and the Prince on theirs, advanced with somewhat quicker steps. They met at the reëntrant angle, where a thin stream sprayed across a boulder and was scattered in rain among the brush; and the Baronet saluted the Prince with much punctilio. To the Countess, on the other hand, he bowed with a kind of sneering wonder.
‘Is it possible, madam, that you have not heard the news?’ he asked.
‘What news?’ she cried.
‘News of the first order,’ returned Sir John: ‘a revolution in the State, a Republic declared, the palace burned to the ground, the Princess in flight, Gondremark wounded’
‘Heinrich wounded?’ she screamed.
‘Wounded and suffering acutely,’ said Sir John. ‘His groans’
There fell from the lady’s lips an oath so potent that, in smoother hours, it would have made her hearers jump. She ran to her horse, scrambled to the saddle, and, yet half seated,
