We rode in by the same way as we had come out the evening before,
all four of us--the men and the horses--wearied and jaded. The streets
were even quieter than when we had gone: everyone was sleeping off last
night's revelry, and we met hardly a soul till we reached the little
gate of the Palace. There Sapt's old groom was waiting for us.
"Is all well, sir?" he asked.
"All's well," said Sapt, and the man, coming to me, took my hand to
kiss.
"The King's hurt!" he cried.
"It's nothing," said I, as I dismounted; "I caught my finger in the
door."
"Remember--silence!" said Sapt. "Ah! but, my good Freyler, I do not need
to tell you that!"
The old fellow shrugged his shoulders.
"All young men like to ride abroad now and again, why not the King?"
said he; and Sapt's laugh left his opinion of my motives undisturbed.
"You should always trust a man," observed Sapt, fitting the key in the
lock, "just as far as you must."
We went in and reached the dressing-room. Flinging open the door, we saw
Fritz von Tarlenheim stretched, fully dressed, on the sofa. He seemed to
have been sleeping, but our entry woke him. He leapt to his feet, gave
one glance at me, and with a joyful cry, threw himself on his knees
before me.
"Thank God, sire! thank God, you're safe!" he cried, stretching his hand
up to catch hold of mine.
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