Frederick looked out, and as he looked he laughed. The running about in the house was plainly visible by the moving and flashing lights.
“They are all in a panic over there. I suppose they will be sending after me in a boat. It will take time to find me.”
“Pardon me, sire,” said Gavin. “If your Majesty will trust yourself on my back, I can get you over safely. The water is not yet up to my waist, and the distance is short.”
“Yes,” cried Frederick, laughing again. “While my staff are racing about like frightened chickens in a barnyard I will walk in on them.” He stooped and picked up Gavin’s cloak, which lay on the floor.
“I remember your laying this over my knees, although you thought I was sleeping too soundly to know anything; but come, the water rises every moment.”
He went rapidly down the stairs, followed closely by Gavin and St. Arnaud. Gavin stepped boldly into the flood, which was up to his waist, and cried to the King:
“Your Majesty must make yourself very small, for my honour is engaged to get you across without wetting you. And you must also wear my cloak over your own.”
Frederick sprang up on Gavin’s back with great agility, drawing his heels up under Gavin’s arms. St. Arnaud covered him up well with the two cloaks, and Gavin stepped lightly forward into the flood. His young strength enabled him to withstand the flow of the waters with considerable steadiness, and it was plain he could get the King over without difficulty. About midway, however, he came to a dead stop.
“Your Majesty,” he asked, “do you remember us, and that night at the country house in Silesia, and Madame Ziska?”
“Certainly I do,” coolly responded Frederick, “and had you not lost your senses, it would have been by no means impossible for you to have made your escape by a rush, when I broke the door in.”