The grasp of the falling Baron had torn down the dainty
fabric of the bodice; and - 'O Highness!' cried Greisengesang,
appalled, 'the terrible disorder of your toilette!'
'Take up that flounce,' she said; 'the man may die.'
Greisengesang turned in a flutter to the Baron, and attempted some
innocent and bungling measures. 'He still breathes,' he kept
saying. 'All is not yet over; he is not yet gone.'
'And now,' said she 'if that is all you can do, begone and get some
porters; he must instantly go home.'
'Madam,' cried the Chancellor, 'if this most melancholy sight were
seen in town - O dear, the State would fall!' he piped.
'There is a litter in the Palace,' she replied. 'It is your part to
see him safe. I lay commands upon you. On your life it stands.'
'I see it, dear Highness,' he jerked. 'Clearly I see it. But how?
what men? The Prince's servants - yes. They had a personal
affection. They will be true, if any.'
'O, not them!' she cried. 'Take Sabra, my own man.'
'Sabra! The grand-mason?' returned the Chancellor, aghast. 'If he
but saw this, he would sound the tocsin - we should all be
butchered.'
She measured the depth of her abasement steadily. 'Take whom you
must,' she said, 'and bring the litter here.'
Once she was alone she ran to the Baron, and with a sickening heart
sought to allay the flux of blood. The touch of the skin of that
great charlatan revolted her to the toes; the wound, in her ignorant
eyes, looked deathly; yet she contended with her shuddering, and,
with more skill at least than the Chancellor's, staunched the
welling injury.
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