“Admirably. All you needed was a sword.”
“I can capture one from the enemy in time. Do you think His Majesty will be as pleasant to us in the morning?”
“Not if he is like the kings I have known. The more friendly and companionable the night before, the more surly the next morning—to keep us from presuming, I suppose.”
A silence followed, and the deep and heavy breathing, which showed they had laid aside all their perplexities for that night.
About half an hour afterward, so Gavin imagined, he was awakened by St. Arnaud stirring about the room, but it was nearly daybreak. Like a true soldier, Gavin waked with all his wits about him. He saw St. Arnaud, after lighting a candle, produce a kettle from the closet in which they had been shut up, and, filling it with water, he put it on the stove, which was still glowing hot. As soon as the water boiled St. Arnaud, again going to the closet, fished out a basin, and proceeded to enjoy a thorough bath. He then produced his silver-mounted razor and, standing before a mirror, removed the beard which had appeared upon his face during the last twenty-four hours. Then, completely washed and shaved, he looked ready for a promenade in Paris. Gavin watched him closely, thinking to himself:
“He will see that I bathe and shave as carefully as he.”
St. Arnaud’s toilet finished, he shook Gavin, who got up and made rather ostentatiously a toilet, if anything, more careful than St. Arnaud’s. When it was over the two men were perfect pictures of officer-like neatness. And as for good looks, St. Arnaud was exquisitely handsome, while Gavin, by his noble figure, his brilliant complexion, and his frank and winning expression, made up for his want of regular beauty.
The tread of the sentry outside of the window was still heard, and men were passing back and forth in the corridors, and up and down the stairs. Scarcely was the gray dawn visible when their door was unceremoniously opened, and a trooper appeared, and, pointing with his sword toward the hall, St. Arnaud and Gavin went out. Awaiting them they found some bread and coffee for breakfast, and the Prussians fared no better.
On what had once been a well-kept pleasure ground, with a fish-pond in the middle, the King’s staff and escort were assembled—over two hundred mounted men. A trooper held the bridles of the prisoners’ horses, and Madame Ziska’s comfortable travelling calash was drawn up in the centre of the cavalcade.
In another moment Madame Ziska appeared, a Prussian officer leading her down the steps. She nodded to St. Arnaud and Gavin, saying gayly: