The Princess-mother visibly stiffened with maternal authority.

“My child, without some sure sign the Prince consents, you must not go.”

Clementina looked towards Wogan for assistance.  Wogan put his hand into his pocket.

“That sure sign I have,” said he.  “It is a surer sign than any written letter; for handwriting may always be counterfeit.  This could never be,” and he held out on the palm of his hand the turquoise snuff-box which the Prince had given him on New Year’s day.  “It is a jewel unique in all the world, and the Prince gave it me.  It is a jewel he treasured not only for its value, but its history.  Yet he gave it me.  It was won by the great King John of Poland, and remains as a memorial of the most glorious day in all that warrior’s glorious life; yet his son gave it me.  With his own hands he put it into mine to prove to me with what confidence he trusted your Highness’s daughter to my care.  That confidence was written large in the letter I burnt, but I am thinking it is engraved for ever upon this stone.”

The Princess-mother took the snuff-box reluctantly and turned it over and over.  She was silent.  Clementina answered for her.

“I am ready,” she said, and she pointed to a tiny bundle on a chair in which a few clothes were wrapped.  “My jewels are packed in the bundle, but I can leave them behind me if needs be.”

Wogan lifted up the bundle and laughed.

“Your Highness teaches a lesson to soldiers; for there is never a knapsack but can hold this and still have half its space to spare.  The front door is unlatched?”

“M.  Chateaudoux is watching in the hall.”

“And the hall’s unlighted?”

“Yes.”

“Jenny should be here in a minute, and before she comes I must tell you she does not know the importance of our undertaking.  She is the servant to Mrs. Misset, who attends your Highness into Italy.  We did not let her into the secret.  We made up a comedy in which you have your parts to play.  Your Highness,” and he turned to Clementina, “is a rich Austrian heiress, deeply enamoured of Captain Lucius O’Toole.”

“Captain Lucius O’Toole!” exclaimed the mother, in horror.  “My daughter enamoured of a Captain Lucius O’Toole!”

“He is one of my three companions,” said Wogan, imperturbably.  “Moreover, he is six foot four, the most creditable lover in the world.”

“Well,” said Clementina, with a laugh, “I am deeply enamoured of the engaging Captain Lucius O’Toole.  Go on, sir.”

“Your parents are of a most unexampled cruelty.  They will not smile upon the fascinating O’Toole, but have locked you up on bread and water until you shall agree to marry a wealthy but decrepit gentleman of eighty-three.”

“I will not,” cried Clementina; “I will starve myself to death first.  I will marry my six feet four or no other man in Christendom.”

“Clementina!” cried her mother, deprecatingly.