Rastatz gasped, even Sterkoff started. Markart laughed: it could be nothing more than a mad joke. Cashiering was the least punishment which would await the act.
"Yes, we three together!" He released them for a moment and caught up his sword and cap. Then he seized Rastatz's wrist again and squeezed it savagely. "Come out of your trap with me, you rat!" he growled, in savage amusement at the young man's frightened face.
Sterkoff gained courage. "I'm with you, Hercules!" he cried. "I'm for to-night—the devil take to-morrow morning!"
"You're all drunk," said Markart, in despairing resignation.
"We'll be drunker before the night's out," snarled Mistitch. "And if I meet that fellow when I'm drunk, God help him!" He laughed loudly. "Then there might be a chance for young Alexis, after all!"
The words alarmed Markart. Young Count Alexis was the King's son by Countess Ellenburg. A chance for young Alexis!
"For Heaven's sake, go to bed!" he implored.
Mistitch turned on him. "I don't want to quarrel with anybody in Slavna to-night, unless I meet one man. But you can't stop me, Markart, and you'll only do mischief by trying. Now, my boys!"
They were with him—Sterkoff with a gleam in his squinting eye, Rastatz with a forced, uneasy giggle and shaking knees. Mistitch clapped them on the back.
"Another bottle apiece and we'll all be heroes!" he cried. "Markart, you go home to your mamma!"