“Ah! Then you shall be locked up. I can not accord you recognition; without the essential representations, I see nothing in you but an impertinent meddler. To-morrow evening you shall be conveyed to Brunnstadt, where you will reside for some time, I can assure you. Perhaps on your head will rest the blood of many gallant gentlemen; for within another twenty-four hours I shall declare war against Leopold. This will be the consequence of your disloyalty to your word.” And she moved toward the door, the others imitating her. Fitzgerald, more than any one else, desired to get away.
And one by one they vanished. Once the countess turned and threw Maurice a glance which mystified him; it was half curtained with tears. Presently he was alone. His eye grasped every object. There was not a weapon in sight; only the bayonets on the table, and he could scarcely hope to escape by use of one of these. A carafe of water stood on the table. He went to it and half emptied it. His back was toward the door. Suddenly it opened. He wheeled, expecting to see the troopers. His surprise was great. Beauvais was leaning against the door, a half humorous smile on his lips. The tableau lasted several minutes.
“Well,” said Beauvais, “you do not seem very glad to see me.”
Maurice remained silent, and continued to gaze at his enemy over the tops of the upturned bayonets.
“You are, as I said before, a very young man.”
“I killed a puppet of yours last night,” replied Maurice, with a peculiar grimness.
“Eh? So it was you? However, Kopf knew too much; he is dead, thanks to your service. After all, it was a stroke of war; the princess, whose little rose you have, was to have been a hostage.”
“If she had refused to be a wife,” Maurice replied.
Beauvais curled his mustache.
“I know a good deal more than Kopf.”