Sophy of Kravonia Part 14

Markart found the imprisoned officers at wine after their dinner; the men had resigned themselves to fate and gone to bed. Markart delivered his message with his usual urbane simplicity. Lieutenant Rastatz giggled uneasily--he had a high falsetto laugh. Lieutenant Sterkoff frowned peevishly. Captain Mist.i.tch rapped out a vicious oath and brought his great fist down on the table. "The evening isn't finished yet," he said.

"But for this cursed fellow I should have been dining with Vera at the Hotel de Paris to-night!"

Whereupon proper condolences were offered to their Captain by his subalterns, who, in fact, held him in no small degree of fear. He was a huge fellow, six feet three and broad as a door; a great bruiser and a duellist of fame; his nickname was Hercules. His florid face was flushed now with hot anger, and he drank his wine in big gulps.

"How long are we to stand it?" he growled. "Are we school-girls?"

"Come, come, it's only for one evening," pleaded Markart. "One quiet evening won't hurt even Captain Hercules!"

The subalterns backed him with a laugh, but Mist.i.tch would have none of it. He sat glowering and drinking still, not to be soothed and decidedly dangerous. From across the square came the sound of music and singing from the Golden Lion. Again Mist.i.tch banged the table.

"Listen there!" he said. "That's pleasant hearing while we're shut up like rats in a trap--and all Slavna laughing at us!"

Markart shrugged his shoulders and smoked in silence; to argue with the man was to court a quarrel; he began to repent of his well-meant visit.

Mist.i.tch drained his gla.s.s.

"But some of us have a bit of spirit left, and so Master Sergius shall see," he went on. He put out a great hand on either side and caught Sterkoff and Rastatz by their wrists. "We're the fellows to show him!"

he cried.

Sterkoff seemed no bad choice for such an enterprise--a wiry, active fellow, with a determined, if disagreeable, face, and a nasty squint in his right eye. But Rastatz, with his slim figure, weak mouth, and high laugh, promised no great help; yet in him fear of Mist.i.tch might overcome all other fear.

"Yes, we three'll show him! And now"--he rose to his feet, dragging the pair up with him--"for a song and a bottle at the Golden Lion!"

Rastatz gasped, even Sterkoff started. Markart laughed: it could be nothing more than a mad joke. Cas.h.i.+ering was the least punishment which would await the act.

"Yes, we three together!" He released them for a moment and caught up his sword and cap. Then he seized Rastatz's wrist again and squeezed it savagely. "Come out of your trap with me, you rat!" he growled, in savage amus.e.m.e.nt at the young man's frightened face.

Sterkoff gained courage. "I'm with you, Hercules!" he cried. "I'm for to-night--the devil take to-morrow morning!"

"You're all drunk," said Markart, in despairing resignation.

"We'll be drunker before the night's out," snarled Mist.i.tch. "And if I meet that fellow when I'm drunk, G.o.d help him!" He laughed loudly. "Then there might be a chance for young Alexis, after all!"

The words alarmed Markart. Young Count Alexis was the King's son by Countess Ellenburg. A chance for young Alexis!

"For Heaven's sake, go to bed!" he implored.

Mist.i.tch turned on him. "I don't want to quarrel with anybody in Slavna to-night, unless I meet one man. But you can't stop me, Markart, and you'll only do mischief by trying. Now, my boys!"

They were with him--Sterkoff with a gleam in his squinting eye, Rastatz with a forced, uneasy giggle and shaking knees. Mist.i.tch clapped them on the back.

"Another bottle apiece and we'll all be heroes!" he cried. "Markart, you go home to your mamma!"

Though given in no friendly way, this advice was wise beneath its metaphor. But Markart did not at once obey it. He had no more authority than power to interfere; Mist.i.tch was his senior officer, and he had no special orders to act. But he followed the three in a fascinated interest, and with the hope that a very brief proof of his freedom would content the Captain. Out from the barracks the three marched. The sentry at the gate presented arms, but tried to bar their progress. With a guffaw and a mighty push Mist.i.tch sent him sprawling. "The Commandant wants us, you fool!" he cried--and the three were in the square.

"What the devil will come of this business?" thought Markart, as he followed them over the little bridge which spanned the ca.n.a.l, and thence to the door of the Golden Lion. Behind them still he pa.s.sed the seats on the pavement and entered the great saloon. As Mist.i.tch and his companions came in, three-fourths of the company sprang to their feet and returned the salute of the new-comers; so strongly military in composition was the company--officers on one side of a six-feet-high gla.s.s screen which cut the room in two, sergeants and their inferiors on the other. A moment's silence succeeded the salute. Then a young officer cried: "The King has interfered?" It did not occur to anybody that the Commandant might have changed his mind and reversed his decree; for good or evil, they knew him too well to think of that.

"The King interfered?" Mist.i.tch echoed, in his sonorous, rolling, thick voice. "No; we've interfered ourselves, and walked out! Does any one object?"

He glared a challenge round. There were officers present of superior rank--they drank their beer or wine discreetly. The juniors broke into a ringing cheer; it was taken up and echoed back from behind the gla.s.s screen, to which a hundred faces were in an instant glued, over which, here and there, the head of some soldier more than common tall suddenly projected.

"A table here!" cried Mist.i.tch. "And champagne! Quick! Sit down, my boys!"

A strange silence followed the impulsive cheers. Men were thinking.

Cheers first, thoughts afterwards, was the order in Slavna as in many other cities. Now they recognized the nature of this thing, the fateful change from sullen obedience to open defiance. Was it only a drunken frolic--or, besides that, was it a summons to each man to choose his side? Choosing his side might well mean staking his life.

A girl in a low-necked dress and short petticoats began a song from a raised platform at the end of the room. She was popular, and the song a favorite. n.o.body seemed to listen; when she ended, n.o.body applauded.

Mist.i.tch had been whispering with Sterkoff, Rastatz sitting silent, tugging his slender, fair mustache. But none of the three had omitted to pay their duty to the bottle; even Rastatz's chalky face bore a patch of red on either cheek. Mist.i.tch rose from his chair, gla.s.s in hand.

"Long life to the King!" he shouted. "That's loyal, isn't it? Ay, immortal life!"

The cheers broke out again, mingled with laughter. A voice cried: "Hard on his heir, Captain Hercules!"

"Ay!" Mist.i.tch roared back. "Hard as he is on us, my friend!"

Another burst of cheering--and again that conscience-smitten silence.

Markart had found a seat, near the door and a good way from the redoubtable Mist.i.tch and his companions. He looked at his watch--it was nearly ten; in half an hour General Stenovics would be leaving the Palace, and it was meet that he should know of all this as soon as possible. Markart made up his mind that he would slip away soon; but still the interest of the scene, the fascination of this prelude--such it seemed to him--held his steps bound.

Suddenly a young man of aristocratic appearance rose from a table at the end of the room, where he had been seated in company with a pretty and smartly dressed girl. A graceful gesture excused him to his fair companion, and he threaded his way deftly between the jostling tables to where Mist.i.tch sat. He wore Court dress and a decoration. Markart recognized in the young man Baron von Hollbrandt, junior Secretary of the German Legation in Slavna.

Hollbrandt bowed to Mist.i.tch, with whom he was acquainted, then bent over the giant's burly back and whispered in his ear.

"Take a friend's advice, Captain," he said. "I've been at the Palace, and I know the Prince had permission to withdraw at half-past nine. He was to return to Slavna then--to duty. Come, go back. You've had your spree."

"By the Lord, I'm obliged to you!" cried Mist.i.tch. "Lads, we're obliged to Baron von Hollbrandt! Could you tell me the street he means to come by? Because"--he rose to his feet again--"we'll go and meet him!"

Half the hall heard him, and the speech was soon pa.s.sed on to any out of hearing. A spa.r.s.e cheer sputtered here and there, but most were silent.

Rastatz gasped again, while Sterkoff frowned and squinted villanously.

Hollbrandt whispered once more, then stood erect, shrugged his shoulders, bowed, and walked back to his pretty friend. He sat down and squeezed her hand in apology; the pair broke into laughter a moment later. Baron von Hollbrandt felt that he at least had done his duty.

The three had drunk and drunk; Rastatz was silly, Sterkoff vicious, the giant Mist.i.tch jovially and cruelly reckless, exalted not only by liquor but with the sense of the part he played. Suddenly from behind the gla.s.s screen rose a mighty roar:

"Long live Mist.i.tch! Down with tyrants! Long live Captain Hercules!"

It was fuel to the flames. Mist.i.tch drained his gla.s.s and hurled it on the floor.

"Well, who follows me?" he cried.

Half the men started to their feet; the other half pulled them down.

Contending currents of feeling ran through the crowd; a man was reckless this moment, timid the next; to one his neighbor gave warning, to another instigation. They seemed poised on the point of a great decision. Yet what was it they were deciding? They could not tell.

Markart suddenly forgot his caution. He rushed to Mist.i.tch, with his hands out and "For G.o.d's sake!" loud on his lips.

"You!" cried Mist.i.tch. "By Heaven! what else does your General want?

What else does Matthias Stenovics want? Tell me that!"

A silence followed--of dread suspense. Men looked at one another in fear and doubt. Was that true which Mist.i.tch said? They felt as ordinary men feel when the edge of the curtain is lifted from before high schemes or on intrigues of the great.