Bernheim shook his head. “Lotzen does not belong yonder—he is a remnant of the Middle Ages.”
“Well, I’m not; so no armor for me, my dear Bernheim—I’ll keep my eyes open and take my chances. I don’t believe the crown of Valeria will be the reward of an assassin.”
Disappointment shone in the Aide’s eyes.
“I’m something of a Fatalist, myself, sir,” he said, “but I wouldn’t play with a tiger after I had goaded him to fury.”
Armand smiled. “The case isn’t exactly parallel.”
“No—not exactly:—the tiger might not kill me.”
The Archduke picked up the letter knife and slowly cut lines on the blotter.
“You need not go into the tiger’s cage,” he remarked.
“There isn’t any cage—the beast is at large.”
“Nonsense, Colonel; this fellow Lotzen has got on your nerves. I thought you hadn’t any.”