A hand was laid on his shoulder, and a voice murmured in his ear:
“Do not compromise us.”
The king now also left the stage, and tried to subdue the anger of his companion.
“Pardon, sir, the violence of my friend,” said the king, with an ironical smile, as he bowed to the postmaster. “We are not accustomed to being questioned and suspected in this manner, and I can assure you that, although we are travelling musicians, as it pleased you to say, we are honest people, and have played before kings and queens.”
“If you are honest, show me your passports; no honest man travels without one!”
“It appears to me that no rascal should travel without one,” said the king. “I will obtain one immediately,” said Balby, hastening to the door.
The king held him back. “My brother, you are very innocent and thoughtless. You forget entirely that we are suspected criminals. Should we demand a light, and immediately appear with our passes, do you not believe that this dragon of a postmaster would immediately think that we had written them ourselves, and put a forged seal under them?”
“How, then, are we to get a light?” said Balby, confused.
The king thought a moment, then laughed gayly.
“I have found a way,” he said; “go down into the dining-room, where I noticed an eternal lamp burning, not to do honor to the Mother of God, but to smokers; light your cigar and bring it here. I will light the sealing-wax by it, and we will have the advantage of drowning the smell of the wax with the smoke.”