Mr. Wogan kicked his heels in the courtyard while the message was taken.  At any moment some rumour of the curious spectacle in the square might be brought to the palace and excite inquiry.  There might be another courier in pursuit besides the man whom Gaydon kept a prisoner.  Wogan was devoured with a fever of impatience.  It seemed to him hours before the Prince’s secretary returned to him.  The secretary handed him back his passport, and on the part of the Prince made a speech full of civilities.

“Here’s a great deal of jam, sir,” said Wogan.  “I misdoubt me but what there’s a most unpalatable pill hidden away in it.”

“Indeed,” said the secretary, “the Prince begs you to be content and to wait for the post-horses to return.”

“Ah, ah!” cried Wogan, “but that’s the one thing I cannot do.  I must speak plainly, it appears.”  He drew the secretary out of ear-shot, and resumed:  “My particular business is to catch up the Prince of Baden.  He is summoned back to Innspruck.  Do you understand?” he asked significantly.

“Sir, we are well informed in Trent as to the Emperor’s wishes,” said the secretary, with a great deal of dignity.

“No, no, my friend,” said Wogan.  “It is not by the Emperor the Prince of Baden is summoned, though I have no doubt the summons is much to his taste.”

The secretary stepped back in surprise.

“By her Highness the Princess?” he exclaimed.

“She changes her mind; she is willing where before she was obdurate.  To tell you the truth, the Prince plied her too hard, and she would have none of him.  Now that he turns his back and puts the miles as fast as he can between himself and her, she cannot sleep for want of him.”

The secretary nodded his head sagaciously.

“Her Highness is a woman,” said he, “and that explains all.  But it will do her no harm to suffer a little longer for her obstinacy, and, to tell you the truth, the Prince Taxis is so tormented with the gout that—­”

“That you are unwilling to approach him a second time,” interrupted Wogan.  “I have no doubt of it.  I have myself seen prelates in a most unprelatical mood.  But here is a case where needs must.  I have not told you all.  There is a devil of a fellow called Charles Wogan.”

The secretary nodded his head.

“A mad Irishman who has vowed to free her Highness.”

“He has set out from Strasbourg with that aim.”

“He will hang for it, then, but he will never rescue her;” and the secretary began to laugh.  “I cannot upon my honour vex the Prince again because a gallows-bird has prated in his cups.”