“Where does her Royal Highness go each Thursday evening, accompanied by her eternal cuirassiers, von Mitter and Scharfenstein?”
“Where but to see her old nurse Elizabeth? But two men will not be enough. Von Mitter and Scharfenstein—”
“Will as usual remain at the carriage. But what's to prevent the men from gaining entrance by the rear?—carrying off her Highness that way, passing through the alley and making off, to be a mile away before the cuirassiers even dream of the attempt?”
“After all, I'd rather the duchess.”
“We can not all be kings and queens.” Johann got up and slapped Stuler familiarly on the shoulder. “Forget not the gold, the yellow gold; little heaps of it to finger, to count, and to spend.”
Stuler's eyes gleamed phosphorescently. There was the strain of the ancient marauder in his veins; gold easily gotten. He opened the door, and Johann passed out, swaying. The wine was taking hold of him. He turned into the hall, while Stuler busied himself with the spigots. Some one discovered the spy, and called him by name; it was caught up by others, and there were numerous calls for a speech.
As a socialist Johann was well known about the lower town. Besides, five years gone, he himself had been a student and a brother of freedom. He had fought a dozen successful duels, and finally had been expelled from the university for beating a professor who had objected to his conduct in the presence of ladies. Other ill reports added to his popularity. To be popular in this whimsical world of ours, one has either to be very good or very bad. Johann was not unwilling to speak. Stuler had given him the cue; the cuirassiers. His advice was secretly to arm and hold in readiness. As this was the substance of the other speeches, Johann received his meed of applause.
“And let us not forget the bulldog; let us kill him, too,” cried one of the auditors; “the prodigal bulldog, who has lived on our fatted calves.”
This was unanimously adopted. The bulldog was not understood; and he smacked of the English. Then, too, the bulldog roamed too freely in the royal enclosures; and, until late years, trespassers fared badly. The students considered that their privileges extended everywhere; the dog, not being conversant with these privileges, took that side which in law is called the benefit of a doubt.
After his speech Johann retired to the bar-room. What he desired most of all was a replenished purse. Popular he was; but the students knew his failings, among which stood prominently that of a forgetful borrower. They would buy him drinks, clothes and food, if need be, but they would not lend him a stiver. And he could not borrow from Stuler, whose law was only to trust. Johann gambled, and wine always brought back the mad fever for play. The night before he had lost rather heavily, and he wanted to recover his losses. Rouge-et-noir had pinched him; he would be revenged on the roulette. All day long combinations and numbers danced before his eyes. He had devised several plans by which to raise money, but these had fallen through. Suddenly he smiled, and beckoned to Stuler.