“Did your Majesty call?”
“No,” tartly responded the King. “Did you not hear me playing on my flute? A man must have some recreation, and because I do not puff smoke by the hour, nor gamble, nor make a beast of myself with wine, I am not thereby without tastes.”
The officer was so taken aback by this onslaught that he hastily closed the door.
The effect of Madame Ziska’s dance was not less electrifying to the two men in the closet than on the King. St. Arnaud was somewhat surprised, but Gavin’s eyes were nearly starting out of his head, and St. Arnaud could scarcely keep from laughing, although a laugh then would have cost him his life.
“There, madame!” said Frederick, when the officer had hastily shut the door. “You see one of the disadvantages of my calling. It would not surprise my military family in the least if I were to be guilty of crimes and call them amusements; but that I should occasionally play the flute never fails to astonish them. Bah! But tell me this,” he resumed, as Madame Ziska, panting after her exercise, fanned herself. “How comes it that a woman who dances in a manner worthy of the Grand Opera at Paris should speak so well? Pardon my bluntness; I have fallen into it, because the women I see are chiefly court ladies who never would have done talking, when once they begun, if I did not use a little brusquerie with them occasionally.”
Madame Ziska laughed a singularly pleasant and honest laugh. “I do myself not know,” she replied, “except that as soon as I learned to read I wished to put it to practice. I come of the very bourgeoisie you were abusing just now; but circumstances placed me with a certain person in particular who was above me in station and highly educated, and, naturally, I strove to raise myself to a higher level than a mere dancer.”
“Humph! Where are you going now?”
“I am on my way to Vienna. Your Majesty has fluted so to the Austrians and French that they are always dancing—but not of my kind. And I am going where I can find people who will think of some one else than your Majesty long enough to let a poor artist make a living.”
“You may see the Empress Queen at Vienna, but not exactly as you see me—ha! ha! However, I will give you some tangible proof that you have seen me.”
He fumbled in his pockets and brought out a plain silver snuff-box with the royal cipher on it. Then taking a penknife from his pocket, he scratched on the lid, “Frédéric,” adding: “I, and only I, so write my name.”