Part 46

Insanity and suicide though it seemed to be to him, he could not help it. That was bad enough--but with the prospect of the beautiful Princess going into the place as well: life had become a horrible thing to him.

He sought the wayside shrine down the crooked village street. He threw himself upon his knees before it, vowing candles to every saint who had granted petty favors to him in the past!

He faced the great cathedral, rearing its pale crest in the dim light from the stars, vast and exalted above the miserable squalor of those whose ancestors had created its grandeur with their inspired devotion. He told the Holy Family and the saints, with tear-choked voice, the quandary of his noble master, and begged that, though they should never grant him another request, somehow, somewhere, they find and bring a gallant adventurer who could turn defeat into victory, one more willing and competent than himself, to die!

And the answer to this prayer was unburdening his own soul with semi-religious phrases, in a Kentucky accent, addressed with unwonted and even picturesque fluency at the stumbling, stodgy Rusty Snow, who trudged along loaded with luggage and an insatiate hatred of this "cussed foreign joint," as he labeled it to himself.

The Princess and her maid had, at Jarvis' suggestion, left them with the automobile in its latest quagmire, to reach the shelter of the inn. So it was that, as her vassal and his vassal struggled with the luggage in the dark, she reached the portal of the house of Pedro.

Robledo was hearkening carefully to certain careful instructions from the Duke of Alva, nodding with a smile of malicious portent at the final words.

"I will not fall short of my former reputation, your Excellency," declared the Don. "When a man reaches my time of life, after a success in the bull-ring as toreador, in the army as a duelist, and in the private retinue of so distinguished a nobleman as yourself, he has a certain pride in his ability.... Indeed, I regret that I must waste my talents upon a stupid pig of a Yankee."

Shaking his head, Carlos drew out his purse.

"The man is no idiot, unfortunately. He has completely won the confidence of the Princess, despite his obvious trickeries. Now, however, I would like to attend to a few little tasks of cleaning up after that miserable trip."

Pedro was approaching them subserviently, a humble, bobbing head betokening his anxiety to please the fine folk.

"Anything else, your Excellency?" he stammered, overcome with the pomp and majesty of the situation.

"Here, my good man, take this coin and have the brave lads in the taproom drink to my health and that of her Exalted Highness, the Princess Maria Theresa."

With studied carelessness, he dropped the coin upon the floor, and Pedro chased the rolling golden disk with surprising agility.

"Then bring me up some hot water, soap, and towels. You may prepare a hasty supper, as well--but let it be fit for a gentleman to eat!"

"Yes, yes! Your Excellency!" and Pedro nearly brought back his rheumatic spell by the renewed bobbing of the stiff old back, as he retreated to the barroom.

He returned promptly after breaking the gladsome tidings of the treat, and led the nobleman up the stairway, as a chorus of cheers rang out from the alcoholic ward.

"The Duke! The Duke! His Excellency the Duke of Alva!"

Robledo walked to the door, with his characteristic swashbuckler rhythm, and stirred them up to more enthusiasm.

"Louder, you beggars, or I'll give you something to yell about--louder, I say!"

Dolores had slipped through the doorway, facing the road.

Suddenly she danced in through the entry again, happy and exultant.

"Her Highness has come, father. Her Highness!"

Old Pedro stumbled toward the balcony and peered over at her querulously.

"Father, father!"

"What is it, Dolores?"

"Her Highness, the Princess!"

The old man bustled down the stairs, trembling with added excitement, just as Maria Theresa and Nita were bowed into the tavern by a villager who had accompanied them from the delayed machine.

The peasants trooped into the room from the tap, howling with mediæval enthusiasm.