“For thirteen piastres? No, my son. If you could make up the fifteen, now——”
But Cyril shook his head, and began to make fast the boat, preparatory to helping his charges to land. They would walk along the bank for a little, in order to throw the old man off the scent; but it was not worth while to run an additional risk for the sake of hoodwinking him further.
“I say!” cried their late host, as he pushed the boat off again, “surely you don’t carry your own parcels when you’ve got your wife with you?”
“How could I do anything but carry the bundle in the town, when she was gaping and staring about so that I knew she would drop it or let it be stolen?” returned Cyril sullenly. “Here, Anna, make yourself useful,” and he handed the parcel of rugs to the Queen. She gave him a look of astonished reproach, which he answered by a frown intended to counsel prudence. The old man, who had caught her expression but not his, laughed loudly.
“Lazy!” he cried. “After all, my son, I see that there is some advantage in having a dumb wife. If yours had possessed a tongue, you would certainly be making acquaintance with the rough side of it at this moment. But you and I know that there is nothing like a good thick stick for all of them—is there?”
“He is a detestable old man,” said Fräulein von Staubach to Cyril in a low voice, as they walked along the bank, the farmer’s loud chuckles still reaching them faintly across the water; “but I am sorry you thought it well to deceive him about the money. It would have been much pleasanter to go a little farther in the boat.”
“But I assure you there was no deception,” returned Cyril. “That was absolutely my last piastre. It is true that I have some gold; but if I had let him see it he would have been convinced at once that we were no better than we should be. And as for going farther in the boat, it would only have been waste of time. As soon as we are out of sight of our friend, we will turn off into the hills, and look for the charcoal-burner’s glen.”
But it was some time before this was possible, for the road ran parallel with the river, and every now and then their late host rested on his oars for a minute to take breath, and shouted some remark to Cyril. It was evident that he would have liked his help again in rowing, although he would not confess it, and was trying to tempt him to produce some hidden store of coin out of which to pay for a longer passage. But at length the bank became steep and rocky, and the road turned more inland, and Cyril waved farewell joyfully to the old man, and took a furtive look at the map to ascertain the right course. But the road was so completely deserted that he might have spread out the map and consulted it for an hour without danger, and he turned to relieve the Queen of the burden she had been carrying.
“We will return to the path we passed a little way back, madame. So far as I can make out, it leads just in the direction we wish to take. Permit me to carry the rugs.”
But to his surprise she looked him full in the face without a word, and declined to give up the bundle. Thinking that she wished him to relieve Fräulein von Staubach, he held out his arms for the little King, who allowed himself to be transferred from one bearer to the other without even waking. Going on in advance to find the path, Cyril turned to wait for the ladies, and observed in astonishment that the Queen was still carrying the rugs, in spite of all Fräulein von Staubach’s attempts to get possession of the bundle. Moreover, she still refused to speak, and Cyril led the way up the hill in silence, deciding in his own mind that she had taken it into her head to feel angry at being supposed to be dumb, and was trying to punish him by keeping up the pretence when it was no longer necessary.