“Are you the man to take a sword and be at my back, sir?” he said; and resumed in a manner less contemptuous toward the civil costume:  “I request it for the sole purpose of quieting this lady’s fears.”

Wilfrid explained who and what he was.  On hearing that he was General Pierson’s nephew the officer laughed cheerfully, and lifted the veil from the lamp, by which Wilfrid knew him to be Colonel Prince Radocky, a most gallant and the handsomest cavalier in the Imperial service.  Radocky laughed again when he was told of Weisspriess keeping guard below.

“Aha! we are three, and can fight like a pyramid.”

He flourished his hand above the lady’s head, and called for a sword.  The lady affected to search for one while he stalked up and down in the jaunty fashion of a Magyar horseman; but the sword was not to be discovered without his assistance, and he was led away in search of it.  The moment he was alone Wilfrid burst into tears.  He could bear anything better than the sight of fondling lovers.  When they rejoined him, Radocky had evidently yielded some point; he stammered and worked his underlip on his moustache.  The lady undertook to speak for him.  Happily for her, she said, Wilfrid would not compromise her; and taking her lover’s hand, she added with Italian mixture of wit and grace:  “Happily for me, too, he does.  The house is surrounded by enemies; it is a reign of terror for women.  I am dead, if they slay him; but if they recognize him, I am lost.”

Wilfrid readily leaped to her conclusion.  He offered his opera-hat and civil mantle to Radocky, who departed in them, leaving his military cloak in exchange.  During breathless seconds the lady hung kneeling at the window.  When the gate opened there was a noise as of feet preparing to rush; Weisspriess uttered an astonished cry, but addressed Radocky as “my Pierson!” lustily and frequently; and was heard putting a number of meaningless questions, laughing and rallying Pierson till the two passed out of hearing unmolested.  The lady then kissed a Cross passionately, and shivered Wilfrid’s manhood by asking him whether he knew what love was.  She went on: 

“Never, never love a married woman!  It’s a past practice.  Never!  Thrust a spike in the palm of your hands drink scalding oil, rather than do that.”

“The Prince Radocky is now safe,” Wilfrid said.

“Yes, he is safe; and he is there, and I am here:  and I cannot follow him; and when will he come to me?”

The tones were lamentable.  She struck her forehead, after she had mutely thrust her hand to right and left to show the space separating her from her lover.

Her voice changed when she accepted Wilfrid’s adieux, to whose fate in the deadly street she appeared quite indifferent, though she gave him one or two prudent directions, and expressed a hope that she might be of service to him.