Suddenly Fritz von Tarlenheim laid his hand on my shoulder.
“Let us go and make the attempt,” said he.
“I mean you to go—don’t be afraid,” said I.
“Ay, but do you stay here, and take care of the princess.”
A gleam came into old Sapt’s eye.
“We should have Michael one way or the other then,” he chuckled; “whereas if you go and are killed with the King, what will become of those of us who are left?”
“They will serve Queen Flavia,” said I, “and I would to God I could be one of them.”
A pause followed. Old Sapt broke it by saying sadly, yet with an unmeant drollery that set Fritz and me laughing:
“Why didn’t old Rudolf the Third marry your—great-grandmother, was it?”
“Come,” said I, “it is the King we are thinking about.”