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He would have given worlds to have written the song with which Clementina solaced herself in the darkness, to have composed the melody on which her voice rose and sank. The carriage drew up at an inn; the horses were changed; the flight was resumed. Wogan had not moved during this delay, neither had Misset nor O'Toole come to the door.
"Very well," said he, heaving a sigh which made the glasses on the table dance, and laying his napkin down he got up. To his surprise, however, he was bidden to stay. "Gaydon and I will go," said Wogan. "Jack will find out the fellow's business." Misset nodded his head, took up his knife and fork again. He leaned across the table to O'Toole as the others stepped out of the room.
They laughed, where before they had wept; from under the seat they pulled out chickens which Misset had cooked with his own hands at Nazareth, bottles of the wine of St. Laurent, and bread; and Wogan allowed a halt long enough to get water from a spring by the roadside. "There is no salt," said Gaydon. "Indeed there is," replied Misset, indignant at the aspersion on his catering.
When you come to think philosophically about it, you'll see that if fathers had their way the world would be peopled with sons with never a bit of a lass in any corner to marry them." Wogan held his hand out and clasped Misset's. "That was a great saying," said he, "but so much sacrifice is not to be accepted." Misset, however, was firm.
Murray, Misset and his wife, and Maria Vittoria de Caprara made the public part of the company; Wogan stood for the King; and the Marquis of Monti Boulorois for James Sobieski, the bride's father. Bride and bridegroom played their parts bravely and well, one must believe, for the chronicler speaks of their grace and modesty of bearing.
Misset by good fortune had a small bottle of Carmelite water in her pocket; she held it to the Princess's nostrils, who in a little opened her eyes and saw her companions in tears about her, imploring her to wake. "It is nothing," she said. "Take courage, my poor marmosets;" and with a smile she added, "There's my six feet four with the tears in his eyes. Did ever a woman have such friends?"
Misset wept for that her negligence was to blame; Gaydon sat on the box in the falling snow with his arms crossed upon his breast, and felt his head already loose upon his shoulders. The only one of the party who had any comfort of that half-hour was Wogan.
"The King," said O'Toole; "to be sure, that makes a difference." Gaydon asked quietly, "And what is the prize?" "The Princess Clementina," said Wogan. "We are to rescue her from her prison in Innspruck." Even Gaydon was startled. "We four!" he exclaimed. "We four!" repeated Misset, staring at Wogan. His mouth was open; his eyes started from his head; he stammered in his speech.
While Wogan was lighting the tobacco, Misset came back into the room with word that the doctor was out upon his last rounds, but would come as soon as he had returned home. The four men sat down about the fire, and Wogan reached out his hand and felt O'Toole's arm. "It is you," he said. "There you are, the three of you, my good friends, and this is Schlestadt.
He merely shrugged his shoulders, however, and said, "That looks ill for us." The courier gazed suddenly at Misset, then at O'Toole, with a dull sort of suspicion in his eyes. "And which way might you gentlemen be travelling?" "To Innspruck; we're from Trent," said Misset, boldly. The courier turned to O'Toole. "And you too, sir?" O'Toole turned a stolid, uncomprehending face upon the courier.
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