“Sire, Lieutenant Hamilton is now in condition to travel, and it is our duty to return, especially out of consideration to the Prince of Bevern.”
“Do not trouble yourself about Bevern. The roads are not yet in condition to travel. You will be delayed on the way. Why not remain here? Besides, to-night will be clear, and we must have another night at the telescope.”
Two days passed before St. Arnaud again mentioned it to the King. Both nights had been spent in the observatory.
“Sire,” he said, “I cannot any longer restrain the impatience of Lieutenant Hamilton. He is anxious to return to Vienna, and, as you know, he is very rash and inexperienced; I cannot answer for what he may say or do if he does not return at once.”
“Send him to me.”
Gavin, for the first time walking without a stick, went into the King’s room. It was evening, and the King stood before a large fire.
“So you will not wait until the surgeons say your leg is well enough for you to travel?”
“Sire, my leg is quite well enough to travel.”
“A few days more of rest would be better for it. Your friend, Captain St. Arnaud, is not so eager to leave you as you are.”
“Oh, your Majesty, if you talked to me as you do to St. Arnaud, I would be willing to stay, too. But I know that I am not so well worth talking to—I am not accomplished, and do not know the world and the people in it as St. Arnaud does—and, besides, I have a mother at Vienna that I had not seen for a long time until a few weeks ago.”