“I fancy,” said he, “that when Josef tells them the King is gone they’ll think it is because we smelt a rat. For you may swear Black Michael doesn’t expect to see him in Strelsau today.”
I put the King’s helmet on my head. Old Sapt handed me the King’s sword, looking at me long and carefully.
“Thank God, he shaved his beard!” he exclaimed.
“Why did he?” I asked.
“Because Princess Flavia said he grazed her cheek when he was graciously pleased to give her a cousinly kiss. Come though, we must ride.”
“Is all safe here?”
“Nothing’s safe anywhere,” said Sapt, “but we can make it no safer.”
Fritz now rejoined us in the uniform of a captain in the same regiment as that to which my dress belonged. In four minutes Sapt had arrayed himself in his uniform. Josef called that the horses were ready. We jumped on their backs and started at a rapid trot. The game had begun. What would the issue of it be?
The cool morning air cleared my head, and I was able to take in all Sapt said to me. He was wonderful. Fritz hardly spoke, riding like a man asleep, but Sapt, without another word for the King, began at once to instruct me most minutely in the history of my past life, of my family, of my tastes, pursuits, weaknesses, friends, companions, and servants. He told me the etiquette of the Ruritanian Court, promising to be constantly at my elbow to point out everybody whom I ought to know, and give me hints with what degree of favour to greet them.
“By the way,” he said, “you’re a Catholic, I suppose?”