Prince Ferdinand William Otto stood at his window and looked out. Something of resentment showed itself in the lines of his figure. There was, indeed, rebellion in his heart. This was a real day, a day of days, and no one seemed to care that he was missing it. Miss Braithwaite looked drawn about the eyes, and considered carnivals rather common, and certainly silly. And Nikky looked drawn about the mouth, and did not care to play.
Rebellion was dawning in the soul of the Crown Prince, not the impassive revolt of the “Flying Dutchman” and things which only pretended to be, like the imitation ship and the women who were not really spinning. The same rebellion, indeed, which had set old Adelbert against the King and turned him traitor, a rebellion against needless disappointment, a protest for happiness.
Old Adelbert, forbidden to march in his new uniform, the Crown Prince, forbidden his liberty and shut in a gloomy palace, were blood-brothers in revolt.
Not that Prince Ferdinand William Otto knew he was in revolt. At first it consisted only of a consideration of his promise to the Chancellor. But while there had been an understanding, there had been no actual promise, had there?
Late in the morning Nikky took him to the roof. “We can’t go out, old man,” Nikky said to him, rather startled to discover the unhappiness in the boy’s face, “but I’ve found a place where we can see more than we can here. Suppose we try it.”
“Why can’t we go out? I’ve always gone before.”
“Well,” Nikky temporized, “they’ve made a rule. They make a good many rules, you know. But they said nothing about the roof.”
“The roof!”
“The roof. The thing that covers us and keeps out the weather. The roof, Highness.” Nikky alternated between formality and the other extreme with the boy.
“It slants, doesn’t it?” observed his Highness doubtfully.