Frederick could not forbear smiling at Gavin’s naïveté.
“Very well,” he said; “wait but two days more in patience; the moon is at the full, and I desire to study it with St. Arnaud, and by that time it will be possible for you to start.”
The two days brought very great improvement to Gavin’s leg. He walked about the streets, threw away his stick, packed up such belongings as he had brought with him, and announced his readiness to start at any moment. All of the second day they had expected a message from the King saying horses were at their disposal for their travelling chaise; but the only message they got from him was, that, when supper was over, he would have a little concert in his own apartments, to which St. Arnaud and Gavin were asked.
“We must go. It is now too late in the day to take the road,” said St. Arnaud.
Gavin, choking with rage and disappointment, said no word. St. Arnaud began to make a careful toilet, while Gavin sullenly watched him. To St. Arnaud’s laughing remark, that royal invitations must always be accepted, Gavin only replied:
“The King will not know whether I am there or not.”
Seeing he was in a dangerously bad humour, St. Arnaud said nothing more and left the room. As soon as he was gone Gavin sat down to the writing-table and dashed off a letter to him.
“You have just left the room for the King’s apartment as I write this. That man has bewitched you. You will not leave this place for a week yet. I cannot stand it another day. I am gone. You will find me at Vienna when you arrive, which I believe will not be until the campaign actually opens, and the King is obliged to send you away. G. H.”
Having written this in much haste and fury, Gavin put together his money and papers, including Frederick’s memorandum concerning their conversation in the flooded garden, stowing them in his breast pocket, and, wrapping his cloak around him, walked downstairs; and watching the moment when the sentry’s back was turned, slipped out of the door and into a side street.
It was already late in the evening, and the city was poorly lighted, which was favourable to his designs. He walked toward the more thinly settled quarters of the town, following the course of the river. He had no plan in his mind, and was simply yielding to a wild impulse. Not until his eye fell upon a number of boats moored near a boat-house under a bridge did a connected idea of the best mode of getting out of Breslau present itself to him. He stepped into a boat, picked up the oars, and pulled rapidly with the stream. It was quite dark, and he could only faintly discern the straggling buildings on the shore and an occasional figure flitting past in the gloom of evening. He knew nothing of the town, but felt sure that at some point the river was watched and defended. In a little while he came to that point—a bridge, near which fortifications loomed, and on which the steady tramp of a sentry’s feet could be heard.