“I have seen to-night more property in flames than all my savings during the last eight years would pay for. I have no horsemen at my back, and have stumbled here blindly, a much bedraggled fugitive, having lost my way in every sense of the phrase. And so I beg of the hospitality of Count Staumn another flagon of wine, and either a place of shelter for my patient horse, who has been left too long in the storm without, or else direction towards the frontier, whereupon my horse and I will set out to find it.”
“Not towards the frontier!” cried Baron Brunfels, grasping again his sword and holding it aloft, “but towards the capital. We will surround you, and hew for you a way through that fickle mob back to the throne of your ancestors.”
Each man sprang to his weapon and brandished it above his head, while a ringing cheer echoed to the timbered ceiling.
“The King! The King!” they cried.
Rudolph smiled and shook his head.
“Not so,” he said. “I leave a thankless throne with a joy I find it impossible to express. As I sat on horseback, half-way up the hill above the burning city, and heard the clash of arms, I was filled with amazement to think that men would actually fight for the position of ruler of the people. Whether the insurrection has brought freedom to themselves or not, the future alone can tell, but it has at least brought freedom to me. I now belong to myself. No man may question either my motives or my acts. Gentlemen, drink with me to the new President of Alluria, whoever he may be.”
But the King drank alone, none other raising flagon to lip. Then Baron Brunfels cried aloud:
“Gentlemen: the King!”
And never in the history of Alluria was a toast so heartily honoured.