He hurried out, and Philippa wrapped the Queen in a dark cloak, drawing the hood over her head. They stood waiting breathlessly until General Banics reappeared, having taken forcible possession of the first carriage he came across. It belonged to a private individual, but a _bakhshish_ to the servants, added to the awe-inspiring effect of the General’s uniform and his manner, enabled him to hire it for a short time, and he helped the ladies in and took his seat upon the box in disapproving silence. A short drive, during which the Queen and Philippa held each other’s hands in an agony of fear, brought them to the Hebrew quarter. To Philippa’s intense relief, although she could hardly have told why she felt relieved, the door of Cyril’s Jewish host stood open, and the porter was lounging on the threshold talking to a friend, so that the commotion usually needed before entrance could be obtained was not called for. Earlier in the day, Philippa and her parents had partaken of coffee with the family, in a scene that might have come straight from the pages of ‘Tancred,’ but now every one was away at the consuls’ entertainment, with the exception of the aged grandfather, who was roused from his slumbers by the servants, and came forth blinking and bewildered. Fortunately he recognised Philippa, but precious time passed while he lamented the unfitness of his poor house to receive the exalted young lady, wringing his hands the while. She cut him short at last in desperation. “I must see my uncle at once, please. It is most important that this lady should speak to him. No, no; you are not to say that we are here!” Fairly dashing past the servants, who were already starting off to announce her presence, she dragged the Queen in the direction of the staircase which led to Cyril’s rooms on the upper floor, leaving the old man still wringing his hands and murmuring feebly something about coffee. No one guessed who the elder woman was who followed Philippa so closely as she crossed the courtyard, although General Banics thought it well to station himself at the foot of the staircase, in case curiosity should be roused as to her identity. Entering the passage from which the rooms opened, the two ladies were confronted by the valet Dietrich, who appeared to have been placidly smoking a huge pipe in the dark. “Where is Count Mortimer, Dietrich? I want to speak to him.” Philippa lowered her voice involuntarily. “At work, gracious one. He must not be disturbed.” “You know he never meant you were to keep me out. Let me pass, please.” “Alas, gracious one! I have his Excellency’s orders to admit no one.” “Dietrich!” Ernestine threw back her hood, and the flash of her diamonds dazzled the valet’s astonished eyes; “you must let me through. It is a matter of life and death for your master.” “Pardon, Majesty, I dare not. I have my orders.” Ernestine clasped her hands wildly. Philippa drew her aside.