“Dead four years? So much for man and his futile dreams. Dead four years,” absently.
“What did you say, Herr?”
“I? Nothing. How did he die?”
“He was thrown from his horse and killed. But the duchess lives, and she is worthy of her sire. Eh, Herr, there is a woman for you! She should sit on this throne; it is hers by right. These Osians are aliens and were forced on us.”
“It seems to me, young man, that you are talking treason.”
“That is my business, Herr.” Johann laughed. “I am a socialist, and occasionally harangue for the reds. And sometimes, when I am in need of money, I find myself in the employ of the police.”
The muscles of the Englishman's jaws hardened, then they relaxed. The expression on the face of his guide was free from anything but bonhomie.
“One must live,” Johann added deprecatingly.
“Yes, one must live,” replied the Englishman.
“O! but I could sell some fine secrets to the Osians had they money to pay. Ach! but what is the use? The king has no money; he is on the verge of bankruptcy, and this pretty bit of scenery is the cause of it.”