“You would not think, looking at Prince Otto Georg now, that at the time of the Franco-Prussian war his name was in every one’s mouth, would you?” said M. Drakovics. “He was a dashing young cavalry officer--very young--and I remember distinctly the incident which brought him into special notice. Our friend General Sertchaieff was, I believe, at the German headquarters at the time, and it was he who, when we were first compelled to seek a king, suggested, from his recollection of the matter, that the crown should be offered to Prince Otto Georg. The Prince was carrying despatches--for Moltke, I think--and was taken prisoner by a small body of French cavalry. He managed to destroy the despatches, but he had been made acquainted with the contents, and this his captors guessed. They were too far from their headquarters to take him there that night, and therefore they halted in a stable, put their prisoner in the empty loft and took away the ladder, and sat down round a fire underneath. They must have got hold of some wine--at any rate, they went to sleep one by one, and the fire burned low. Prince Otto Georg watched his opportunity, and let himself drop from the entrance to the loft. He fell among the embers of the fire, and burnt his hands badly, but he crept past the Frenchmen to the spot where their horses were tied, unfastened them all, and led them across the grass until they were out of hearing. Then he mounted one, driving the rest before him for a short distance, after which he turned them loose and rode for his life, reaching his destination safely and delivering his message.” “You are quite right in saying that no one would imagine it who looked at him now,” said Cyril, as M. Drakovics rose to escort him to the door. “By the bye, you have rather a good view of the river from this window. What steamer is that flying Pannonian colours?” “A Scythian trader, I fancy,” returned the Premier. “A good many of them hoist the Pannonian flag while they are here. It prevents unpleasantness, and we don’t ask too many questions, knowing that we can gain nothing but benefit from their coming, even though it is under the rose. A thriving trade with Scythia would in itself be almost a guarantee of peace. This particular ship has just unloaded her cargo, and leaves to-morrow.” “Brought wheat, I suppose?” “No; machinery for use in the arsenal. Sertchaieff has had two clerks on the wharf for three days checking all the cases as they were unloaded. When everything is in working order we shall be far more independent of other nations than any of our neighbours. This is another piece of good news for your Highness to convey to his Majesty.” “Yes, I think that on the whole Caerleon has about as pleasant a berth as he could wish,” responded Cyril as he went out.