“The King would never forgive it,” I stammered.
“Are we women? Who cares for his forgiveness?”
The clock ticked fifty times, and sixty and seventy times, as I stood in thought. Then I suppose a look came over my face, for old Sapt caught me by the hand, crying:
“You’ll go?”
“Yes, I’ll go,” said I, and I turned my eyes on the prostrate figure of the King on the floor.
“Tonight,” Sapt went on in a hasty whisper, “we are to lodge in the Palace. The moment they leave us you and I will mount our horses—Fritz must stay there and guard the King’s room—and ride here at a gallop. The King will be ready—Josef will tell him—and he must ride back with me to Strelsau, and you ride as if the devil were behind you to the frontier.”
I took it all in in a second, and nodded my head.
“There’s a chance,” said Fritz, with his first sign of hopefulness.
“If I escape detection,” said I.
“If we’re detected,” said Sapt. “I’ll send Black Michael down below before I go myself, so help me heaven! Sit in that chair, man.”