Knowing the perils ahead of us, I engaged two stout men-at-arms, and
late in February we started for Basel as bodyguard to good Master Franz.
Think of the heir of Hapsburg marching in the train of a Swiss merchant!
Max dared not think of it; he was utterly humiliated!

Our first good fortune at Muhldorf he looked on as the deepest
degradation a man might endure, but he could not starve, and he would
not beg. Not once did he even think of returning to Styria, and, in
truth, he could not have done so had he wished; our bridges were burned
behind us; our money was spent.

By the time we had finished half our journey to Basel, Max liked the
life we were leading, and learned to love personal liberty, of which he
had known so little. Now he could actually do what he wished. He could
even slap a man on the back and call him "comrade." Of course, if the
process were reversed,--if any one slapped Max on the back,--well,
dignity is tender and not to be slapped. On several occasions Max got
himself into trouble by resenting familiarities, and his difficulties at
times were ludicrous. Once a fist fight occurred. The heir of Hapsburg
was actually compelled to fight with his fists. He thrashed the poor
fellow most terribly, and I believe would have killed him had not I
stayed his hand. Another time a pretty girl at Augsburg became familiar
with him, and Max checked her peremptorily. When he grew angry, she
laughed, and saucily held up her lips for a kiss. Max looked at me in
half-amused wonder.

"Take it, Max; there is no harm in it," I suggested.

Max found it so, and immediately wanted more, but the girl said too many
would not be good for him. She promised others later on, if he were