"Come, lad, there, there; but it's your life, you know, if you're
known--and mine--and Fritz's here. But, if you don't go, I swear to you
Black Michael will sit tonight on the throne, and the King lie in prison
or his grave."

"The King would never forgive it," I stammered.

"Are we women? Who cares for his forgiveness?"

The clock ticked fifty times, and sixty and seventy times, as I stood in
thought. Then I suppose a look came over my face, for old Sapt caught me
by the hand, crying:

"You'll go?"

"Yes, I'll go," said I, and I turned my eyes on the prostrate figure of
the King on the floor.

"Tonight," Sapt went on in a hasty whisper, "we are to lodge in the
Palace. The moment they leave us you and I will mount our horses--Fritz
must stay there and guard the King's room--and ride here at a gallop.
The King will be ready--Josef will tell him--and he must ride back with
me to Strelsau, and you ride as if the devil were behind you to the
frontier."

I took it all in in a second, and nodded my head.

"There's a chance," said Fritz, with his first sign of hopefulness.

"If I escape detection," said I.