“I shall never sleep,” grumbled the prince, “till I have humbled that woman. And you? Have you no rankle in your heart? Have you no desire to witness that woman's humiliation?”
“Your Highness, I belong to a foreign country.”
“No matter; be my aide. Come; I offer you a complete revenge for the treatment you have received at Madame's hands. Your government shall never know.”
Maurice studied the mane of his horse. Suddenly he made a gesture. This gesture consigned to the four winds his diplomatic career. “I accept,” he said. “You will find me at the Continental. I confess that I have no love for this woman. She has robbed me of no little conceit.”
“To the palace, then; to the palace! And this hour to-morrow we, you and I, will drink to her Royal Highness at the Red Chateau. To the palace!”
Up the Strasse they raced, through the lower town to the upper, and down the broad asphalt to the palace gates. The prince rushed his horse to the very bars and shook them in his wild impatience.
“Ho! open, open!” he called.
Several cuirassiers lounged about. At the sight of these two hatless, bedraggled men storming the gates, they ran forward with drawn swords and angry cries. Lieutenant Scharfenstein was among them. At second glance he recognized Maurice, who hailed him.
“Open, Lieutenant,” he cried; “it is his Highness, Prince Frederick!”
The bars came down, the gates swung in.