Meanwhile the man lying by the water's edge showed signs of returning life. He turned his head cautiously. His enemies were a dozen yards away from him. Slowly he rolled over on his stomach, thence to his knees.

They were paying no attention to him....

"Ho, there! the prisoner!" cried von Mitter, tumbling out of the carriage. He tried to stand up, but a numbness seized his legs, and he sank to a sitting posture.

Maurice and Scharfenstein turned too late. Johann had mounted on Scharfenstein's horse, and was flying away down the road. Maurice coolly leveled his revolver and sent two bullets after him. The second one caused Johann to straighten stiffly, then to sink; but he hung on to the horse.

"Hurry!" cried Maurice; "I've hit him and we'll find him along the road somewhere."

They lifted von Mitter into the carriage, wheeled it about, and Scharfenstein mounted the box. Maurice sprang into his saddle, and they clattered off toward the city.

CHAPTER XX. THE LAST STAND OF A BAD SERVANT

The cuira.s.siers stationed in the guardroom of the royal palace walked gently on the tiling, when occasion required them to walk, and when they entered or left the room, they were particularly careful to avoid the c.h.i.n.k of the spur or the clank of the saber. Although the royal bedchamber was many doors removed, the Captain had issued a warning against any unnecessary noise. A loud laugh, or the falling of a saber carelessly rested, drew upon the unlucky offender the scowling eyes of the commander, who reclined in front of the medieval fireplace, in which a solitary log burned, and brooded over past and present. The high revels in the guardroom were no more, the cuira.s.siers were no longer made up of the young n.o.bles of the kingdom; they were now merely watch dogs.

Twenty years ago the commander had come from Dresden as an instructor in arms, and after the first year had watched over the royal household, in the service of the late king and the king who lay dying. He had come of good family, but others had come oof better, and had carried of court honors, though his post in early days had been envied by many. He was above all else a soldier, the embodiment of patience and integrity, and he scorned to murmur because fortune had pa.s.sed over his head. As he sucked at his pipe, he recalled the days of Albrecht and his opera singers, the court scandals, and his own constant employment as messenger in the king's love intrigues.

Albrecht had died a widower and childless, and with him had died the flower of court life. The courtiers and sycophants had flocked to the standard of the duke, and had remained there, primarily because Leopold of Osia promised a sedate and exemplary life. Sometimes the Captain shook his head, as if communing with some unpleasant thought. On each side of him sat a soldier, also smoking and ruminating.

At the mess table a dozen or so whiled away the time at cards. The wavering lights of the candle and hearth cast warring shadows on the wall and floor, and the gun and saber racks twinkled. If the players spoke, it was in tones inaudible to the Captain's ears.

"Our bread and b.u.t.ter," said the Captain softly, "are likely to take unto themselves the proverbial wings and fly away."

No one replied. The Captain was a man who frequently spoke his thoughts aloud, and required no one to reply to his disjointed utterances.

"A soldier of fortune," he went on, "pins his faith and zeal to standards which to-day rise and to-morrow fall. Unfortunately, he takes 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 d.u.c.h.ess 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 pa.s.sed. 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 cuira.s.s 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 d.a.m.ned 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 cuira.s.siers, 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.

"G.o.d 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, pa.s.sed 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 to recall him."

This information caused the Captain to step back, and he muttered the name several times. "Austria...." A gloom settled on his face. "No matter. Prince or no prince, or had he one thousand emperors behind him, no matter. Four of you seek him and arrest him. If he offers resistance, knock him on the head, but arrest him. A traitor is without name, country or respect. His purpose... Never mind.

"Four of you seek for Kopf. Look into Stuler's, in at the opera, and follow Kopf's woman home. I'll take it upon myself to telegraph the frontier to allow no one to cross on the pain of being shot. Pa.s.s the word to the officers in the stables. Hurry away before the archbishop hears of the matter. Away with you, and quietly. And one of you seek that blockhead of a coachman, who did not know enough to come back here and inform us. Beauvais, make him a prisoner, you are not to know why. As for Kopf, dead or alive--alive will be less convenient for all concerned. Off with you!"

The guardroom was at once emptied, and the cuira.s.siers turned off toward the stables, where the main body of the troops was stationed.

Riemer, who was both surgeon and soldier, probed the wound in von Miner's leg and extracted the bullet, which had lodged in the fleshy part of the calf. He applied cold water, lints and bandages. All the while von Mitter sat in the chair, his eyes shut and his lips closed tightly.

"There!" said the surgeon, standing up, "that's better. The loss of blood is the worst part of it." Next he took a few st.i.tches in the cut on the cheek and threw his cloak over the wounded man's knee. "He'll be all right in a day or so, though he'll limp. Carl?"

"O, I'm sound enough," answered von Mitter, opening his eyes. "A little weak in the knees, that's all. I shouldn't have given in, only Kopf got away when we had him fair and fast. We found his horse wandering about the Frohngarten, but no sign of Johann. He's got it, though, square in the back."

"I'm sure of it," said Maurice, who leaned over the back of the speaker's chair.

The Captain eyed him inquiringly.