Marc’antonio’s frown had deepened.  “You mean to tell me, Stephanu,” he persisted, “that the Princess will have none of us?”

“She bade me go my ways, and not come near her; which was cold welcome for a man after a nine day’s sweat.  She added that if I or Marc’antonio came spying upon her, or in any way interfering until she sent for us, she would appeal to her brother against us.”

“Was the Prince present when she said this?”

“He was not.  He was away hunting, she said, in the direction of Nonza; but in fact he must have gone reconnoitring, for he had left the camp all but empty—­no one at home but Andrea and Jacopo Galloni, whose turn it was with the cooking—­these and the Princess.  But the Prince has returned since then, for I heard his horn as I crossed the pass.”

Stephanu, as we moved forward, kept alongside Marc’antonio’s bridle, or as nearly alongside as the narrow track allowed.  I, bringing up the rear, could not see the trouble in Marc’antonio’s face, but I heard it in his voice as he put question after question.  “The Princess was not a prisoner.”  “No; nor under any constraint that Stephanu could detect.  She had her gun; was in fact cleaning and oiling its lock very leisurably when he had walked into camp.  He had found her there, seated on a rock, with Andrea and Jacopo Galloni at a little distance below preparing the meal and taking no notice of her.  In fact, they could not see her, because the rock overhung them.”

“She must have been sitting there for sentry,” said Stephanu, “At any rate, there was no other guard set on the camp.  Well, if so, she took it easily enough; but catching sight of me she stood up, put her finger to her lip and pointed over the ledge.  Thereupon I peered over, but drew back my head before Andrea and Jacopo could spy me.  So I stood before her, expecting to be praised for the despatch I had made on the road; but she praised me not.  She motioned me to follow her a little way out of earshot of the men below, to a patch of tall-growing junipers within which, when first we pitched camp, she had chosen to make her bower.  Then she turned on me, and I saw that in some way I had vexed her, for her eyes were wrathful; and, said she, ‘Why have you made this speed?’ ’Because, O Princess, you have need of me,’ I answered.  ‘I have no need of you,’ she said; ’but where is Marc’antonio?  And the young Englishman—­is he yet alive?’ ‘O Princess,’ I answered again, ’I did not go all the way to the old camp, but only so far that the man Priske could not mistake his road to it.  Then, having put him in the way, I turned back and have travelled night and day.  Of the young Englishman I can tell you nothing; but of Marc’antonio I can promise that he will be on the road and not far behind me.’”

“Grazie,” muttered Marc’antonio; “but how could you be sure I had received the message?”

“Because the Princess had charged you to be at that post until released.  Therefore I knew you would not have quitted it, if alive; and if you were dead—­” Stephanu shrugged his shoulders.  “I was in a hurry, you understand; and in a hurry a man must take a few risks.”