"Thank God," heartily, "that her Royal Highness was
suffering from a headache. She would have died from fright."
Maurice felt the straining cords in the prisoner's neck grow
limp. The rascal had fainted.
"Not her Highness?" Maurice asked, the weight of dread lifting
from his heart.
"No. Her Royal Highness sent Camille, her maid of honor, veiled
and dressed like herself, to play an innocent jest on her old
nurse. Some one shall account for this; for they mistook Camille
for her Highness. I'm going to wade out into the water," von
Mitter added, staggering to his feet.
"You'll never get off your boot," said Maurice.
"I'll cut it off," was the reply, "I shall faint if I do not
cool off the leg. The ball is somewhere in the calf." And he
waded out into the water until it reached above his knees. Thus
he stood for a moment, then returned to the maid, who, on
opening her eyes, screamed. "It is all over, Camille," said the
Lieutenant, throwing an arm about her.
"Your face is bleeding!" she cried, and sank back with her head
against his broad breast.
As Maurice gazed at the pair he sighed. There were no obstacles
here.
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