“Ay, young man,” said Sapt, nodding his head; “but when I fight Rupert of Hentzau, I like to have a man to spare,” and he grinned broadly, being no whit afraid of what Bernenstein might think of his courage. “Now go and get him a hat,” he added, and the lieutenant ran off on the errand.
But the queen cried:
“Are you sending Rudolf alone, then—alone against two?”
“Yes, madam, if I may command the campaign,” said Sapt. “I take it he should be equal to the task.”
He could not know the feelings of the queen’s heart. She dashed her hand across her eyes, and turned in mute entreaty to Rudolf Rassendyll.
“I must go,” he said softly. “We can’t spare Bernenstein, and I mustn’t stay here.”
She said no more. Rudolf walked across to Sapt.
“Take me to the stables. Is the horse good? I daren’t take the train. Ah, here’s the lieutenant and the hat.”
“The horse’ll get you there to-night,” said Sapt. “Come along. Bernenstein, stay with the queen.”
At the threshold Rudolf paused, and, turning his head, glanced once at Queen Flavia, who stood still as a statue, watching him go. Then he followed the constable, who brought him where the horse was. Sapt’s devices for securing freedom from observation had served well, and Rudolf mounted unmolested.