“You are welcome to my cloak,” said the trooper, disengaging that article from his shoulders.
“Thank you,” said Maurice, somewhat abashed by the respectful tone.
The trooper offered his blanket to Fitzgerald.
“I wish no favors,” said the Englishman, thanklessly.
The trooper shrugged, and caught up Maurice's bridle.
At length the troop arrived at the frontier. There was no sign of life at the barrack. They passed unchallenged.
“What!” exclaimed Maurice, “do they sleep here at night, then? A fine frontier barrack.” He had lived in hopes of more disturbance and a possible chance for liberty.
“They will wake up to-day,” answered the Colonel; “that is, if the wine we gave them was not too strong. Poor devils; they must be good and cold by this time, since we have their clothes. What do you think of a king whose soldiers drink with any strangers who chance along?”
Maurice became resigned. To him the present dynasty was as fragile as glass, and it needed but one strong blow to shatter it into atoms. And the one hope rode at his side, sullen and wrathful, but impotent; the one hope the king had to save his throne. He had come to Bleiberg in search of excitement, but this was altogether more than he had bargained for.
The horses began to lift and were soon winding in and out of the narrow mountain pass. The chill of the overhanging snows fell upon them.