"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 leaped 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.
I confess that I was moved. This king, whatever his faults, made people love him. For a mo-
