"
"Step into the carriage, Monsieur;" the Voice had the ring of
command. "I will put you down there. It is the least that I can
do to show my gratitude."
"I--I to ride with your Highness?" he stammered. "O, no! I--that
is--it would scarcely be--"
"You are not afraid of me, Monsieur?" with a smile which, though
it had a bit of the rogue in it, was rather sad. She moved to
the other side of the seat and put the dog on the rug at her
feet. "Perhaps you are proud? Well, Monsieur, I too am proud; so
proud that I promise never to forgive you if you refuse to
gratify my wish."
"I was not thinking of myself, your Highness, or rather I was. I
am not presentable. Look at me; my hat is out of shape, my
clothes dusty, and I dare say that my face needs washing."
The Presence replied to this remarkable defense with laughter,
laughter in which Maurice detected an undercurrent of
bitterness.
"Monsieur Carewe, you are not acquainted with affairs in
Bleiberg, or you would know that I am a nobody. When I pass
through the streets I attract little attention, I receive no
homage. Enter: I command it."
"If your Highness commands--"
"I do command it," imperiously.
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