“If it commends itself to your Excellency,” said Paschics stoutly, “that is enough for me.”
M. Stefanovics gave a nod of acquiescence, and Cyril brought out a map of the district and unrolled it. “You perceive,” he said, “that in this case the railway and the telegraph, instead of being, as usual, our friends, are our enemies, since they are in the power of the conspirators. My idea is, then, to avoid them altogether, and provide a means of escape for their Majesties by way of the old post-road, which takes quite a different route from the railway, and reaches at last the estates of Prince Mirkovics, whose loyalty no one can doubt, and who will provide us with a safe asylum until help can be obtained from Bellaviste.”
“But you forget, my dear Count, that spring can scarcely be said to have begun, and that the post-road passes through the forest and across the mountains before it reaches the Mirkovics domain.”
“I do not forget it; but this is a matter of life and death, Stefanovics.”
“But surely the presence of so large a body of travellers on the old road would create such a stir that it would be impossible for the Court to travel unnoticed, not to mention the difficulty of providing transport for so many?”
“You are right, and delay or recognition would simply mean that we should be pursued and brought back. No; I do not intend to conduct a Court progress, after the manner of a second flight to Varennes. My idea is simply that M. Paschics and I should smuggle the Queen, the little King, and one lady-in-waiting, through the country in disguise.”
The audacity of the proposal took away M. Stefanovics’s breath.
“And the rest of the Court?” he inquired blankly.
“I am afraid they must stay here, in blissful ignorance, until the escape of their Majesties is discovered. The conspirators are not likely to be bloodthirsty, except in the case of unfortunate suspects like myself.”
“We are to remain at the Villa, while you and the Queen—Holy Peter! do you imagine the Queen would ever consent to such a plan of escape, Count?”