I expostulated, but a storm of hisses from those near enough to be interrupted in their enjoyment of the music decided me, and I angrily rose.
"I am at your service, sir."
We walked on without a word.
Never shall I forget the face of the fat little Dutch landlord as we entered—surprise, sympathy, fear alternately lighting his countenance as he poured forth a polyglot expression of his excited feelings. In French, English, Dutch, and German he assured us he was desolated, miserable, abandoned. Ah, but it was a good young Engländer. It was true he had never seen the passport; he knew he should have asked for it himself when his noble friend first came to the house; but, bête brouillant that he was, he had forgotten it.
Then followed a conference between the landlord and the officer, resulting in my being called aside by the former and receiving the following valuable advice:
"My dear sir, you have made a most never-to-be-sufficiently deplored mistake. But see. Satisfy this zealous officer with a bottle of good Stein wine, and all will be well in the morning; only do not leave the house again to-night."
It was a bitter pill, but I swallowed it gracefully, and Herr Polizeidiener and I clicked glasses fraternally with protestations of mutual regard.
In the morning I was awakened by Jules, whose night's rest had done him a world of good. Bright, vivacious, and noisy, he bounded into my room.
"Oh, Herr Mortimer, such an idea! There is a grand review of the soldiery. Come, get up. We must go and see it. I would not miss it for the world."
"Do not be so excited, Jules; it is the last place to which I would dream of taking you. Your father——"