“Fritzi,” said Priscilla, when in the course of her progress down the room she met that burdened man, “I’m dreadfully afraid I’ve said some foolish things.”

Fritzing put the plate of cake he was carrying down on a dresser and wiped his forehead.  “Ma’am,” he said looking worried, “I cannot watch you and administer food to these barbarians simultaneously.  If your tongue is so unruly I would recommend complete silence.”

“I’ve said something about my sisters.”

“Sisters, ma’am?” said Fritzing anxiously.

“Does it matter?”

“Matter?  I have carefully instructed the woman Pearce, who has certainly informed, as I intended she should inform, the entire village, that you were my brother’s only child.  Consequently, ma’am, you have no sisters.”

Priscilla made a gesture of despair.  “How fearfully difficult it is not to be straightforward,” she said.

“Yes, ma’am, it is.  Since we started on this adventure the whole race of rogues has become the object of my sincerest admiration.  What wits, what quickness, what gifts—­so varied and so deftly used—­what skill in deception, what resourcefulness in danger, what self-command—­”

“Yes but Fritzi what are we to do?”

“Do, ma’am?  About your royal sisters?  Would to heaven I had been born a rogue!”

“Yes, but as you were not—­ought I to go back and say they’re only half-sisters?  Or step-sisters?  Or sisters in law?  Wouldn’t that do?”

“With whom were you speaking?”

“Mr. Morrison.”

“Ma’am, let me beg you to be more prudent with that youth than with any one.  Our young friend Caesar Augustus is I believe harmlessness itself compared with him.  Be on your guard, ma’am.  Curb that fatal feminine appendage, your tongue.  I have remarked that he watches us.  But a short time since I saw him eagerly conversing with your Grand Ducal Highness’s maid.  For me he has already laid several traps that I have only just escaped falling into by an extraordinary presence of mind and a nimbleness in dialectic almost worthy of a born rogue.”

“Oh Fritzi,” said the frightened Priscilla, laying her hand on his sleeve, “do go and tell him I didn’t mean what I said.”

Fritzing wiped his brow again.  “I fail to understand,” he said, looking at Priscilla with worried eyes, “what there is about us that can possibly attract any one’s attention.”

“Why, there isn’t anything,” said Priscilla, with conviction.  “We’ve been most careful and clever.  But just now—­I don’t know why—­I began to think aloud.”

“Think aloud?” exclaimed Fritzing, horrified.  “Oh ma’am let me beseech you never again to do that.  Better a thousand times not to think at all.  What was it that your Grand Ducal Highness thought aloud?”

And Priscilla, shamefaced, told him as well as she could remember.

“I will endeavour to remedy it,” said poor Fritzing, running an agitated hand through his hair.