Awkward as the transposition of sentiment might appear, the Thracian poetess was equal to the occasion, and the petition was successfully drawn out, with its wording altered to correspond with the change of circumstances. After the first shock of surprise and ineffable relief, Nadia wrote steadily on, without allowing herself time to think. Not until she was again in the train, with the farewells and good wishes of her kindly hostess ringing in her ears, did she permit herself to remember that Caerleon was once more free, that now there was no one who had the right to stand between him and herself. She knew that she ought to feel sorry that a scheme of so much excellence had failed, that such a cruel indignity had been put upon Caerleon in the face of all Europe, but she was not. She was silently, unspeakably glad, and all the morning as she sat listening patiently to her companion’s legends, and putting in appropriate remarks at intervals, her thoughts were of the spring of happiness which was rising again in her heart. “You look better this morning,” the good woman observed complacently, as they neared Bellaviste. “No doubt it makes you feel more comfortable to have the written paper to depend upon in case you get flustered when you see his Majesty and can’t say a word. That was how my Elisaveta felt when the War Minister’s lady spoke to her one day at a military _fête_. Now be sure and let me hear how you get on. I wish you would come and eat some dinner with us, and let me take you afterwards to some place where you will be able to get a sight of his Majesty; but if you won’t, you won’t. Only, if you get into any trouble, ask for the quarters of Serge Georgevics, and even if I am gone home, you will find Elisaveta there, and she will help you in any way she can, for I am going to tell her all about you.”