“His Highness—” began Hornblower.

He played the farce out to the end, recounting the stranger’s request and laying stress on the importance of his arrival in Paris.

“You have already ordered the carriage, I suppose, Horatio?” asked Barbara.

“As a matter of fact I haven’t yet.”

“Then of course you will. Every minute is of importance, as His Highness says.”

“You are too kind, my dear lady,” said His Highness.

“But—” began Hornblower, and he said no more under the gaze of that blue eye. He walked across and pulled at the bell cord, and when Brown appeared he gave the necessary instructions.

“Tell Harris he can have five minutes to put the horses to. Not a second longer,” supplemented Barbara.

“Yes, my lady.”

“My lady, my lord,” said the stranger as Brown withdrew. “All Europe will be in your debt for this act of kindness. The world is notoriously ungrateful, but I hope the gratitude of Bonaparte will be unmistakable.”

“Your Highness is too kind,” said Hornblower, trying not to be too sarcastic.

“I hope Your Highness has a pleasant journey,” said Barbara, “and a successful one.”

The fellow had won every bit of Barbara’s esteem, obviously. She ignored her husband’s indignant glances until Brown announced the carriage and the stranger had rolled away into the deluging rain.

“But my dear—” protested Hornblower at last. “What on earth did you do that for?”

“It’ll do Harris no harm to drive to Maidstone and back,” said Barbara. “The horses are never exercised enough in any case.”