etter things, meekly
allowed another link to be added to his chain.

CHAPTER V

LEO VERSUS LEOPOLD

"Ach, Himmel!" exclaimed Frau Yorvan; and "Ach Himmel!" she exclaimed
again, her voice rising to a wail, with a frantic uplifting of the
hands.

The Grand Duchess grew pale, for the apple-cheeked lady suddenly
exhibited these alarming signs of emotion while passing a window of
the private dining-room. Evidently some scene of horror was being
enacted outside; and--Virginia and Miss Portman had been away for many
hours.

It was the time for tea in England, for coffee in Rhaetia; Frau Yorvan
had just brought in coffee for one, with heart-shaped, sugared cakes,
which would have appealed more poignantly to the Grand Duchess's
appetite, if the absent ones had been with her to share them.
Naturally, at the good woman's outburst, her imagination instantly
pictured disaster to the one she loved.

"What--oh, what is it you see?" she implored, her heart leaping, then
falling. But for once, the courtesy due to an honored guest was
forgotten, and the distracted Frau Yorvan fled from the room without
giving an answer.

Half paralyzed with dread of what she might have to see, the Grand
Duchess tottered to the window. Was there--yes, there was a
procession, coming down the hilly street that led to town from the
mountain. Oh, horror upon horror! They were perhaps bringing Virginia
down, injured or dead, her beautiful face crushed out of recognition.
Yet no--there was Virginia herself, the central figure in the
procession. Thank Heaven, it could be nothing worse than an accident
to poor, dear Miss Portman--But there was Miss Portman too; and a very
tall, bronzed peasant man, loaded with cloaks and ruecksacks, headed
the band, while the girl and her ex-governess followed after.

Unspeakably relieved, yet still puzzled and vaguely alarmed, the Grand
Duchess threw up the window overlooking the little village square. But
as she strove to attract the truants' attention by waving her hand
and crying out a welcome or a question, whichever should come first,
the words were arrested on her lips. What could be the matter with
Frau Yorvan?

The stout old landlady popped out through the door like a Jack out of
his box, on a very stiff spring, flew to the overloaded peasant, and
almost rudely elbowing Miss Portman aside, began distractedly bobbing
up and down, tearing at the bundle of ruecksacks and cloaks. Her
inarticulate cries