“By Heaven! you’ll always enjoy the King’s countenance,” he laughed, “whether I like it or not; and, sir, I shall very gladly add to it what services I can. Where are you travelling to?”
“To Strelsau, sire—to the coronation.”
The King looked at his friends: he still smiled, though his expression hinted some uneasiness. But the humorous side of the matter caught him again.
“Fritz, Fritz!” he cried, “a thousand crowns for a sight of brother Michael’s face when he sees a pair of us!” and the merry laugh rang out again.
“Seriously,” observed Fritz von Tarlenheim, “I question Mr. Rassendyll’s wisdom in visiting Strelsau just now.”
The King lit a cigarette.
“Well, Sapt?” said he, questioningly.
“He mustn’t go,” growled the old fellow.
“Come, colonel, you mean that I should be in Mr. Rassendyll’s debt, if—”
“Oh, ay! wrap it up in the right way,” said Sapt, hauling a great pipe out of his pocket.