“No, not Marnier, nor any man.  Listen.  It is necessary that when once her Highness is rescued we must get so much start as will make pursuit vain.  We shall be hampered with a coach, and a coach will travel slowly on the passes of Tyrol.  The pursuers will ride horses; they must not come up with us.  From Innspruck to Italy, if we have never an accident, will take us at the least four days; it will take our pursuers three.  We must have one clear day before her Highness’s evasion is discovered.  Now, the chief magistrate of Innspruck visits her Highness’s apartments twice a day,—­at ten in the morning and at ten of the night.  The Princess must be rescued at night; and if her escape is discovered in the morning she will never reach Italy, she will be behind the bars again.”

“But the Princess’s mother will be left,” said Gaydon.  “She can plead that her daughter is ill.”

“The magistrate forces his way into the very bedroom.  We must take with us a woman who will lie in her Highness’s bed with the curtains drawn about her and a voice so weak with suffering that she cannot raise it above a whisper, with eyes so tired from sleeplessness she cannot bear a light near them.  Help me in this.  Name me a woman with the fortitude to stay behind.”

Gaydon shook his head.

“She will certainly be discovered.  The part she plays in the escape must certainly be known.  She will remain for the captors to punish as they will.  I know no woman.”

“Nay,” said Wogan; “you exaggerate her danger.  Once the escape is brought to an issue, once her Highness is in Bologna safe, the Emperor cannot wreak vengeance on a woman; it would be too paltry.”  And now he made his appeal to Misset.

“No, my friend,” Misset replied.  “I know no woman with the fortitude.”

“But you do,” interrupted O’Toole.  “So do I. There’s no difficulty whatever in the matter.  Mrs. Misset has a maid.”

“Oho!” said Gaydon.

“The maid’s name is Jenny.”

“Aha!” said Wogan.

“She’s a very good friend of mine.”

“O’Toole!” cried Misset, indignantly.  “My wife’s maid—­a very good friend of yours?”

“Sure she is, and you didn’t know it,” said O’Toole, with a chuckle.  “I am the cunning man, after all.  She would do a great deal for me would Jenny.”

“But has she courage?” asked Wogan.

“Faith, her father was a French grenadier and her mother a vivandiere.  It would be a queer thing if she was frightened by a little matter of lying in bed and pretending to be someone else.”

“But can we trust her with the secret?” asked Gaydon.

“No!” exclaimed Misset, and he rose angrily from his chair.  “My wife’s maid—­O’Toole—­O’Toole—­my wife’s maid.  Did ever one hear the like?”

“My friend,” said O’Toole, quietly, “it seems almost as if you wished to reflect upon Jenny’s character, which would not be right.”