‘C’est peut-etre le fils de son petit papa, et c’est tout dire.’

Such was her summary comment.

But not satisfied with that, she leaned out of the carriage, and, making an extraordinary grimace appear the mother in labour of the difficult words, said, ‘Doos yo’ laff?’

There was no helping it:  I laughed like a madman, giving one outburst and a dead stop.

Far from looking displeased, she nodded.  I was again put to the dreadful test.

‘Can yo’ mak’ laff?’

It spurred my wits.  I had no speech to ‘mak’ laff’ with.  At the very instant of my dilemma I chanced to see a soberly-clad old townsman hustled between two helpless women of the crowd, his pipe in his mouth, and his hat, wig, and handkerchief sliding over his face, showing his bald crown, and he not daring to cry out, for fear his pipe should be trodden under foot.

‘He can, your Highness.’

Her quick eyes caught the absurd scene.  She turned to one of her ladies and touched her forehead.  Her hand was reached out to me; Temple she patted on the shoulder.

‘He can—­ja:  du auch.’

A grand gentleman rode up.  They whispered, gazed at the tent, and appeared to speak vehemently.  All the men’s faces were foreign:  none of them had the slightest resemblance to my father’s.  I fancied I might detect him disguised.  I stared vainly.  Temple, to judge by the expression of his features, was thinking.  Yes, thought I, we might as well be at home at old Riversley, that distant spot!  We ’re as out of place here as frogs in the desert!

Riding to and fro, and chattering, and commotion, of which the margravine was the centre, went on, and the band played beautiful waltzes.  The workmen in and out of the tent were full of their business, like seamen under a storm.

‘Fraulein Sibley,’ the margravine called.

I hoped it might be an English name.  So it proved to be; and the delight of hearing English spoken, and, what was more, having English ears to speak to, was blissful as the leap to daylight out of a nightmare.

‘I have the honour to be your countrywoman,’ said a lady, English all over to our struggling senses.

We became immediately attached to her as a pair of shipwrecked boats lacking provender of every sort are taken in tow by a well-stored vessel.  She knew my father, knew him intimately.  I related all I had to tell, and we learnt that we had made acquaintance with her pupil, the Princess Ottilia Wilhelmina Frederika Hedwig, only child of the Prince of Eppenwelzen.

’Your father will certainly be here; he is generally the margravine’s right hand, and it’s wonderful the margravine can do without him so long,’ said Miss Sibley, and conversed with the margravine; after which she informed me that she had been graciously directed to assure me my father would be on the field when the cannon sounded.