The Puppet Crown [104]
it at flood tide, which immediately begins to ebb."
The men on either side of him nodded wisely.
"The king can no longer speak. That is why the archbishop has dismissed the cabinet. While he could speak, his Majesty refused to listen to the downfall of his enemies. Why? Look to heaven; heaven only can answer. How many men of the native troops are quartered in these buildings? Not one--which is bad. Formerly they were in the majority. Extraordinary. His Majesty would have made friends with them, but the archbishop, an estimable man in his robes, practically ostracized them. Bad, very bad. Had we been comrades, there might be a different end.
"Faugh! if one of us sticks his head into the city barracks a breath of ice is our reward. Kronau never attends the receptions. A little flattery, which costs nothing, and they would have been willing to die for his Majesty. Now--" He knocked his pipe on the firedog. "Now, they would not lift a finger. A soldier will forgive all things but premeditated neglect.
"As for me, when the time comes I shall return to Dresden and die of old age. Maybe, though, I shan't. When his Majesty dies there is like to be a clash. The duchess is a clever woman, but she would make a balky wife; a capillary affection which runs in the family. Red hair in a man is useful; in a woman it is unmanageable." He refilled his pipe and motioned toward the tongs. The soldier nearest caught up a brand and held it out. The Captain laid his pipe against it and drew. "It's a dreary watch I have from ten till daylight, in his Majesty's antechamber, but he will trust no other man at that post." And with this he fell into silence.
Some time passed. Twice the Captain pulled out his watch and looked at it. Shortly after nine o'clock the beat of hoofs came up the driveway, and the Captain turned his head toward the entrance and waited. A moment later the door opened and three men stood framed in the doorway. Two of them--one in civilian dress--were endeavoring to hold up a third between them. The central figure presented an alarming picture. His cuirass and white trousers were splashed with blood, and his head rolled from side to side, almost insensibly.
"A thousand devils!" exclaimed the Captain at the sight of this unexpected tableau. He sprang up, toppling over his chair. "What's this? Von Mitter? Blood? Have those damned students--"
"A brush on the lake road," interrupted Sharfenstein, breathlessly. "Help him over to a chair, Monsieur Carewe. That's it."
"Have you a knife, Captain?" asked Maurice.
The Captain whipped out his knife, locked it, and gave it to Maurice. "Riemer," he called to one of the cuirassiers, who were rising from the mess table, "bring out your box of instruments; and you, Scharfenstein, a basin of cold water. Quick!"
Maurice knelt and deftly cut away the Lieutenant's boot. A pool of blood collected on the floor.
"God save us!" cried the Captain, "his boot is full of blood." He turned to Scharfenstein, who was approaching with the basin. "What has happened, Max?"
Scharfenstein briefly explained.
"And Kopf?"
"Got away, curse him!"
"And the others?" with a lowering brow.
"They all got away," adding an oath under his breath. Max set the basin on the floor.
"Bad, very bad. Why didn't you shoot?"
"He was afraid of hitting Mademoiselle Bachelier," Maurice interposed.
Max threw him a grateful look.
"Humph!" The Captain called his men around him. "Two of you--. But wait. Who's back of Kopf?"
"Our distinguished Colonel," snapped Max, "who was this day relieved of his straps. A case of revenge, probably."
"Beauvais! Ah, ah!" The Captain smiled grimly. He had always hated Beauvais, who had, for no obvious reason, passed him and grasped the coveted colonelcy, and because, curiously enough, the native troops had made an idol of him. "Beauvais? I am not surprised. An adventurer, with neither kith nor country."
"He is Prince Walmoden," said Maurice, "and for some reason not known, the emperor has promised
The men on either side of him nodded wisely.
"The king can no longer speak. That is why the archbishop has dismissed the cabinet. While he could speak, his Majesty refused to listen to the downfall of his enemies. Why? Look to heaven; heaven only can answer. How many men of the native troops are quartered in these buildings? Not one--which is bad. Formerly they were in the majority. Extraordinary. His Majesty would have made friends with them, but the archbishop, an estimable man in his robes, practically ostracized them. Bad, very bad. Had we been comrades, there might be a different end.
"Faugh! if one of us sticks his head into the city barracks a breath of ice is our reward. Kronau never attends the receptions. A little flattery, which costs nothing, and they would have been willing to die for his Majesty. Now--" He knocked his pipe on the firedog. "Now, they would not lift a finger. A soldier will forgive all things but premeditated neglect.
"As for me, when the time comes I shall return to Dresden and die of old age. Maybe, though, I shan't. When his Majesty dies there is like to be a clash. The duchess is a clever woman, but she would make a balky wife; a capillary affection which runs in the family. Red hair in a man is useful; in a woman it is unmanageable." He refilled his pipe and motioned toward the tongs. The soldier nearest caught up a brand and held it out. The Captain laid his pipe against it and drew. "It's a dreary watch I have from ten till daylight, in his Majesty's antechamber, but he will trust no other man at that post." And with this he fell into silence.
Some time passed. Twice the Captain pulled out his watch and looked at it. Shortly after nine o'clock the beat of hoofs came up the driveway, and the Captain turned his head toward the entrance and waited. A moment later the door opened and three men stood framed in the doorway. Two of them--one in civilian dress--were endeavoring to hold up a third between them. The central figure presented an alarming picture. His cuirass and white trousers were splashed with blood, and his head rolled from side to side, almost insensibly.
"A thousand devils!" exclaimed the Captain at the sight of this unexpected tableau. He sprang up, toppling over his chair. "What's this? Von Mitter? Blood? Have those damned students--"
"A brush on the lake road," interrupted Sharfenstein, breathlessly. "Help him over to a chair, Monsieur Carewe. That's it."
"Have you a knife, Captain?" asked Maurice.
The Captain whipped out his knife, locked it, and gave it to Maurice. "Riemer," he called to one of the cuirassiers, who were rising from the mess table, "bring out your box of instruments; and you, Scharfenstein, a basin of cold water. Quick!"
Maurice knelt and deftly cut away the Lieutenant's boot. A pool of blood collected on the floor.
"God save us!" cried the Captain, "his boot is full of blood." He turned to Scharfenstein, who was approaching with the basin. "What has happened, Max?"
Scharfenstein briefly explained.
"And Kopf?"
"Got away, curse him!"
"And the others?" with a lowering brow.
"They all got away," adding an oath under his breath. Max set the basin on the floor.
"Bad, very bad. Why didn't you shoot?"
"He was afraid of hitting Mademoiselle Bachelier," Maurice interposed.
Max threw him a grateful look.
"Humph!" The Captain called his men around him. "Two of you--. But wait. Who's back of Kopf?"
"Our distinguished Colonel," snapped Max, "who was this day relieved of his straps. A case of revenge, probably."
"Beauvais! Ah, ah!" The Captain smiled grimly. He had always hated Beauvais, who had, for no obvious reason, passed him and grasped the coveted colonelcy, and because, curiously enough, the native troops had made an idol of him. "Beauvais? I am not surprised. An adventurer, with neither kith nor country."
"He is Prince Walmoden," said Maurice, "and for some reason not known, the emperor has promised