With innate good sense he divined an obvious objection to his proposal. “I may at least follow at a distance till I see that your Highness is safe,” he urged.
“As you please,” she replied coldly. “Come, Minna,” and the two hurried off.
Von Bertheim followed at a distance near enough for protection, too distant for remark or scandal. Nothing more than a few curious glances was encountered, and presently the Lieutenant saw them arrive in safety at one of the private doors of the palace. At the distance, some fifty paces, which he had punctiliously kept, he stopped and watched, hoping perhaps for a parting sign from the Princess; but she went in quickly without turning her head in his direction. Her companion, however, looked back and the watcher thought she made a sign to him. As she lingered he hurried forward.
“Good-night,” she said with a demureness which was obviously not quite natural. “The Princess thanks you again. And, oh,” she added with a burst of more characteristic eagerness, “you will not breathe a word of this folly, will you, Herr Lieutenant! It would be terrible for us all. The Princess trusts to your honour.”
Although it was more likely that the exhortation was rather prompted by her own fears than a message from her mistress, von Bertheim replied gravely, “I am sorry that the Princess should deem it necessary to mention it not twice but once even.”
“Oh,” she protested hastily, “it is my fault. Her Highness has every confidence in your chivalry. It was lucky,” she laughed with an admiring glance. “Good-night.”
The door closed upon her and he turned away. “Lucky?” he repeated. “Yes. How will the luck turn out? Ah, yes, it was a fortunate chance even if the luck stop there.”
CHAPTER III
A SOLDIER OF FORTUNE
LUDOVIC VON BERTHEIM walked back now through the nearly deserted streets towards the heart of the city. Small wonder was it that his manner was preoccupied, his face set in characteristic thought. The last hour had brought him an adventure such as might befall the lot of few men, even in days when manners were freer, life less circumscribed, and adventures more plentiful. Judged from his expression, the train of his thought led to very complex considerations, there was doubt, there was pleasure, anger, exultation, doubt again, ever recurring, the whole capped and bound by determination. Once he stopped and, turning, stood looking at the moon-bathed towers of the palace. Only for a moment or two till an impatient gesture swung him round and sent him again on his way.
He had not gone far, however, when he was roused from his abstraction by a hubbub in the street. Recalling his mind to his surroundings, he saw under the half-extinguished lights of an inn adjoining a play-house an excited group round what seemed to be two quarreling men. To avoid the vulgar obstruction, he crossed the street and walked quickly on. He had not gone more than a hundred paces when there came up behind him the sound of running footsteps. A man, bare-headed, and with a naked sword in his hand was flying as though for his life. The fellow wore military dress, and instead of, as his pace and condition suggested, panting with fear, he laughed as he ran. His whole appearance was so extraordinary that Ludovic, standing by to let him pass, could not help saying, “What is the matter, friend?”