“Ah, it’s the count!” said the old lady to her daughter in satisfied tones. “What will he say, though, about that rogue Bauer?” Rupert of Hentzau put his head out from under the wagon-tilt, looked up and down the street, gave the carter a couple of crowns, leapt down, and ran lightly across the pavement into the little shop. The wagon moved on. “A lucky thing I met him,” said Rupert cheerily. “The wagon hid me very well; and handsome as my face is, I can’t let Strelsau enjoy too much of it just now. Well, mother, what cheer? And you, my pretty, how goes it with you?” He carelessly brushed the girl’s cheek with the glove that he had drawn off. “Faith, though, I beg your pardon.” he added a moment later, “the glove’s not clean enough for that,” and he looked at his buff glove, which was stained with patches of dull rusty brown. “It’s all as when you left, Count Rupert,” said Mother Holf, “except that that rascal Bauer went out last night--” “That’s right enough. But hasn’t he returned?” “No, not yet.” “Hum. No signs of--anybody else?” His look defined the vague question. The old woman shook her head. The girl turned away to hide a smile. “Anybody else” meant the king, so she suspected. Well, they should hear nothing from her. The king himself had charged her to be silent. “But Rischenheim has come, I suppose?” pursued Rupert. “Oh, yes; he came, my lord, soon after you went. He wears his arm in a sling.” “Ah!” cried Rupert in sudden excitement. “As I guessed! The devil! If only I could do everything myself, and not have to trust to fools and bunglers! Where’s the count?” “Why, in the attic. You know the way.” “True. But I want some breakfast, mother.” “Rosa shall serve you at once, my lord.” The girl followed Rupert up the narrow crazy staircase of the tall old house. They passed three floors, all uninhabited; a last steep flight that brought them right under the deep arched roof. Rupert opened a door that stood at the top of the stairs, and, followed still by Rosa with her mysterious happy smile, entered a long narrow room. The ceiling, high in the centre, sloped rapidly down on either side, so that at door and window it was little more than six feet above the floor. There was an oak table and a few chairs; a couple of iron bedsteads stood by the wall near the window. One was empty; the Count of Luzau-Rischenheim lay on the other, fully dressed, his right arm supported in a sling of black silk. Rupert paused on the threshold, smiling at his cousin; the girl passed on to a high press or cupboard, and, opening it, took out plates, glasses, and the other furniture of the table. Rischenheim sprang up and ran across the room. “What news?” he cried eagerly. “You escaped them, Rupert?” “It appears so,” said Rupert airily; and, advancing into the room, he threw himself into a chair, tossing his hat on to the table. “It appears that I escaped, although some fool’s stupidity nearly made an end of me.” Rischenheim flushed.