Lepage opened a window which looked over the Krath. The King rose: Lepage hastened to offer his arm, which his Majesty accepted. They went together to the window. A sudden storm had gathered; rain was pelting down in big drops.
"It looks like being a rough night," remarked the King.
"I'm afraid it does, sir," Lepage agreed.
"We're lucky to be going to our beds."
"Very, sir," answered Lepage, wondering whose opposite fate his Majesty was pitying.
"I shouldn't care, even if I were a young man and a sound one, to ride to Praslok to-night."
"To Praslok, sir?" There was surprise in Lepage's voice. He could not help it. Luckily it sounded quite natural to the King. It was certainly not a night to ride five and twenty miles, and into the hills, unless your business was very urgent.
"Yes, to Praslok. I've had my breath of air—you can shut the window, Lepage."
The King returned to the fireplace and stood warming himself. Lepage closed the window, drew the curtains, and came to the middle of the room, where he stood in respectful readiness—and, underneath that, a very lively curiosity.
"Yes," said the King slowly, "Captain Markart goes to Praslok to-night—with a despatch for his Royal Highness, you know. Business, Lepage, urgent business! Everything must yield to that." The King enunciated this virtuous maxim as though it had been the rule of his life. "No time to lose, Lepage, so the Captain goes to-night. But I'm afraid he'll have a rough ride—very rough."