“Oh, no,” she said hopefully; “he was crazy here, but he will be sane there and—”
“Mon Dieu, madame, have a care!” he cried in a low tone, glancing apprehensively about.
“What is it?” she asked, alarmed.
He lowered his voice to an almost inaudible pitch.
“It is that we do not discuss our kings in public as you are habited to do. Voyons donc,” he continued, “if I said, ‘Oh, je trouve l’Empereur très-bête!’ (as I well might say, for I find him often bête enough); if I say that, I might find a sergeant-de-ville at my elbow, and myself in prison almost as the words were still in the air.”
Rosina looked thoroughly frightened.
“And what would they do to you?” she asked, looking up at him with an expression which brought a strange answering look into his own eyes.
“That would depend on how bête I had found the emperor,” he declared, laughing; “but, madame, do not be so troubled, because no one has heard this time.”
They were walking at a good pace, the puddles considered, and came now to the arched entrance into the Hofgarten, where a turning brought them beneath the arcades. The south side was crowded, thanks to the guide-book recommendation to examine the frescoes there on a day when it is too wet to “do” other sights about the city; but the west side, where the frescoes are of landscapes only, and sadly defaced at that, was quite deserted, and they made their way through the crowd to the grateful peace of the silence beyond. It was a pleasant place to walk, with the Hofgarten showing its fresh green picture between the frames of the arcaded arches. The façade of the Hof formed the background to all—a background of stone and marble, of serried ranks of windows marshalled to order by lofty portals and balconies.
“Why are women always like that?” he asked, when they had paced in silence to the other end and turned to return.