Before she could open her lips, however, a great peel rang out through the Palace.
The Prince froze, his face grown pale, as if he sensed imminent disaster.
“It appears we have guests,” he muttered in low troubled tones.
The peel rang out again. There was the sound of hurrying footsteps, doors thrown wide, voices.
The Prince rose and leaned his hands on the table, waiting.
The doors to the supper room flew apart. Turning to see who was there, Elvira sank down in horror.
There on the threshold stood two wretched figures, a man and a woman.
Their clothes were bedraggled, their hair sopping wet and their faces bloodless with fatigue.
The woman’s dress trailed behind her, torn and spattered with mud. Leaning on her companion’s elbow, she turned her dull eyes on Elvira and gave a start.
