Clementina

"It is nothing," she said. "Take courage, my poor marmosets;" and with a

smile she added, "There's my six feet four with the tears in his eyes.

Did ever a woman have such friends?"

The sun came out in the sky as she spoke. They had topped the pass and

were now driving down towards Italy. There was snow about them still on

the mountain-sides and deep in drifts upon the roads. The air was

musical with the sound of innumerable freshets: they could be seen

leaping and sparkling in the sunlight; the valleys below were green with

the young green of spring, and the winds were tempered with the warmth

of Italy. A like change came upon the fugitives. They laughed, where

before they had wept; from under the seat they pulled out chickens which

Misset had cooked with his own hands at Nazareth, bottles of the wine of

St. Laurent, and bread; and Wogan allowed a halt long enough to get

water from a spring by the roadside.

"There is no salt," said Gaydon.

"Indeed there is," replied Misset, indignant at the aspersion on his

catering. "I have it in my tobacco-box." He took his tobacco-box from

his pocket and passed it into the carriage. Clementina made sandwiches

and passed them out to the horsemen. The chickens turned out to be old

cocks, impervious to the soundest tooth. No one minded except Misset,

who had brought them. The jolts of the carriage became matter for a

jest. They picnicked with the merriment of children, and finally

O'Toole, to show his contempt for the Emperor, fired off both his loaded

pistols in the air.

At that Wogan's anxiety returned. He blazed up into anger. He thrust his

head from the window.

"Is this your respect for her Highness?" he cried. "Is this your

consideration?"

"Nay," interposed Clementina, "you shall not chide my six feet four."

"But he is mad, your Highness. I don't say but what a trifle of madness

is salt to a man; but O'Toole's clean daft to be firing his pistols off

to let the whole world know who we are. Here are we not six stages from

Innspruck, and already we have lost twelve hours."

"When?"

"Last night, before we left Innspruck, between the time when you escaped

from the villa and when I joined you in the avenue. I climbed out of the

window to descend as I had entered, but the sentinel had returned. I

waited on the window-ledge crouched against the wall until he should

show me his back. After five minutes or so he did. He stamped on the

snow and marched up the lane. I let myself down and hung by my hands,

but he turned on his beat before I could drop. He marched back; I clung

to the ledge, thinking that in the darkness he would pass on beneath me

and never notice. He did not notice; but my fingers were frozen and

numbed with the cold. I felt them slipping; I could cling no longer, and

I fell. Luckily I fell just as he passed beneath me; I dropped feet

foremost upon his shoulders, and he went down without a cry. I left him

lying stunned there on the snow; but he will be found, or he will

recover. Either way our escape will be discovered, and no later than

this morning. Nay, it must already have been discovered. Already

Innspruck's bells are ringing the alarm; already the pursuit is

begun--" and he leaned his head from the window and cried, "Faster!

faster!" O'Toole, for his part, shouted, "Trinkgeldt!" It was the only

word of German which he knew. "But," said he, "there was a Saracen lady

I learned about at school who travelled over Europe and found her lover

in an alehouse in London, with no word but his name to help her over the

road. Sure, it would be a strange thing if I couldn't travel all over

Germany with the help of 'Trinkgeldt.'"