"A jest.If Madame the duchess conquers the Englishman, the king that is to be will pay her.Then, if she wages war Austria can say nothing for defending ourselves.""And Walmoden?" Stuler struck his forehead with his fist as if to pound it into a state of lucidity."Where is he? It is a stone wall; I can see nothing.""Beauvais."
"Beauvais!" Stuler half rose from his chair, but sank again.
"Exactly.This play, for some reason unexplained, is the price of his reestablishment into the graces of the noble Hapsburgs.
Between us, I think the prince is playing a game for himself.
But who shall blame him?"
"The devil! I thought Austria was very favorable to the Osian house.""Favorable or not, it is nothing to us."
"Well, well, it's a thousand crowns," philosophically.
"That's the sentiment," laughed Johann."It is not high treason, it is not lese majeste; it is not a crime; it is a thousand crowns.Votre sante, as the damned French say!" swallowing what was left of the wine."And then, it is purely patriotic in us,"with a deceitful smile.
"The storehouse is yours, and the men.Now tell me how 'tis to be played.""Where does her Royal Highness go each Thursday evening, accompanied by her eternal cuirassiers, von Mitter and Scharfenstein?""Where but to see her old nurse Elizabeth? But two men will not be enough.Von Mitter and Scharfenstein--""Will as usual remain at the carriage.But what's to prevent the men from gaining entrance by the rear?--carrying off her Highness that way, passing through the alley and making off, to be a mile away before the cuirassiers even dream of the attempt?""After all, I'd rather the duchess."
"We can not all be kings and queens." Johann got up and slapped Stuler familiarly on the shoulder."Forget not the gold, the yellow gold; little heaps of it to finger, to count, and to spend."Stuler's eyes gleamed phosphorescently.There was the strain of the ancient marauder in his veins; gold easily gotten.He opened the door, and Johann passed out, swaying.The wine was taking hold of him.He turned into the hall, while Stuler busied himself with the spigots.Some one discovered the spy, and called him by name; it was caught up by others, and there were numerous calls for a speech.
As a socialist Johann was well known about the lower town.
Besides, five years gone, he himself had been a student and a brother of freedom.He had fought a dozen successful duels, and finally had been expelled from the university for beating a professor who had objected to his conduct in the presence of ladies.Other ill reports added to his popularity.To be popular in this whimsical world of ours, one has either to be very good or very bad.Johann was not unwilling to speak.Stuler had given him the cue; the cuirassiers.His advice was secretly to arm and hold in readiness.As this was the substance of the other speeches, Johann received his meed of applause.
"And let us not forget the bulldog; let us kill him, too," cried one of the auditors; "the prodigal bulldog, who has lived on our fatted calves."This was unanimously adopted.The bulldog was not understood;and he smacked of the English.Then, too, the bulldog roamed too freely in the royal enclosures; and, until late years, trespassers fared badly.The students considered that their privileges extended everywhere; the dog, not being conversant with these privileges, took that side which in law is called the benefit of a doubt.
After his speech Johann retired to the bar-room.What he desired most of all was a replenished purse.Popular he was; but the students knew his failings, among which stood prominently that of a forgetful borrower.They would buy him drinks, clothes and food, if need be, but they would not lend him a stiver.And he could not borrow from Stuler, whose law was only to trust.
Johann gambled, and wine always brought back the mad fever for play.The night before he had lost rather heavily, and he wanted to recover his losses.Rouge-et-noir had pinched him; he would be revenged on the roulette.All day long combinations and numbers danced before his eyes.He had devised several plans by which to raise money, but these had fallen through.Suddenly he smiled, and beckoned to Stuler.
"Stuler, how much will you advance me," he asked, "on a shotgun worth one hundred crowns?""A shotgun worth one hundred crowns? Ten."Johann made a negative gesture."Fifty or none.You can sell it for seventy-five in the morning.So could I, only I want the money to-night.""If you want wine--" began Stuler.
"I want money."
Stuler scratched his nose."Bring the gun to me.If it is worth what you say, I'll see what I can do.""In an hour;" and Johann went out.A cold thin rain was falling, and a dash of it in the face had a cooling effect.Somehow, the exhilaration of the wine was gone, and his mood took a sullen turn.Money! he was ever in need of money.He cursed his ill luck.He cursed the cause of it--drink.But for drink he would not have been plain Johann Kopf, brawler, outcast, spy, disowned by his family and all save those who could use him.He remained standing in the doorway, brooding.
At last he drew his collar about his throat and struck off, a black shadow in a bank of gray.When he reached that part of the street opposite the Grand Hotel, he stopped and sought shelter under an awning.The night patrol came clattering down the street.It passed quickly, and soon all was still again.Johann stepped out and peered up and down.The street was deserted.All the hotel windows were in gloom, save a feeble light which beamed from the office windows.
Would it be robbery? He had not yet stooped to that.But he could hear the ivory ball clatter as it fell into the lucky numbers.He had a premonition that he would win if he stuck to a single combination.He would redeem the gun, replace it, and no one would be any the wiser.If his numbers failed him.....
