“They have my fullest protection.”

He smiled villainously, then walked to the door with a measured tread.  At the door he turned.  There was a flash of rage in his eyes, but he quickly subdued it.

“Auf wiedersehen!” with a sweeping glance which took in all of us, and particularly me.

He passed out, the Count following him soberly.  The two cavalrymen thrust their sabres into the scabbards with a clank, and made as though to follow.

“Wait,” said Gretchen.  “I shall have need of you.  You will escort me to the station.  Now you may go.”

They saluted gravely.  They appreciated the situation.  The Princess was their bread and butter.

“Your Highness,” said Hillars, “there has been a mistake.”

“A mistake?” repeated Gretchen, wonderingly.

“Yes.  They have made you a Princess, whereas they should have made you a Queen.  Will you forgive me the trouble I have caused?”

“It is I who must ask forgiveness of you,” she said, with a sad smile.  “You may kiss my hand, sir.”

Hillars remained somewhat long over it.

“And how comes it that you gentlemen know each other?” she asked.

“Damon and Pythias, Your Highness,” answered Hillars.  “We were brought up together, and we have shared our tents and kettles.  I recommend Pythias to you as a brave gentleman.”  Then he came to me.  “You are a brave fellow, Jack,” grasping my hand.  “Good luck to you.  I had an idea; it has returned.  Now, then, innkeeper, come with me.”

“With you, and where?” asked the innkeeper.  If there was one thing for which he could not account, it was the presence of Hillars at the inn.

“Never mind where, but come,” answered Hillars, gayly.  He bent and whispered something into the old fellow’s ear.  It was something which pleased him, for he screwed his lips into a smile, and took the white hand of the whisperer in his brawny fist and nigh crushed it.

“Well, well! it doesn’t matter where you came from.  Here, you,” to the trio behind him, “go back to the stables.”  They filed out.  Then the innkeeper took Hillars by the arm.  “Come along; time passes.”

“And where are you going?” I asked anxiously.  Hillars should not have passed from my sight but for Gretchen.

“We’ll be back shortly,” he answered.  “You will know all about then, my son.”

He stood on the sill of the door, a handsome picture.  His gray eyes sparkled, his face was full of excitement and there was a color in his cheeks.  There was no sign here of the dissipated man of the night before.  It was Hillars as I had seen him in the old days.  But for his 19th century garb, he might have just stepped down from a frame—­a gallant by Fortuny, who loved the awakened animal in man.  The poise was careless, but graceful, and the smile was debonair.  His eyes were holding Gretchen’s.  A moment passed; another and another.