“Me, or directions from me. By the way, bring money too. There’s never any harm in having a full pocket. I wonder what the devil does without a breeches-pocket?” Rischenheim let that curious speculation alone, although he remembered the whimsical air with which Rupert delivered it. He was now on fire to be gone, his ill-balanced brain leaping from the depths of despondency to the certainty of brilliant success, and not heeding the gulf of danger that it surpassed in buoyant fancy. “We shall have them in a corner, Rupert,” he cried. “Ay, perhaps. But wild beasts in a corner bite hard.” “I wish my arm were well!” “You’ll be safer with it wounded,” said Rupert with a smile. “By God, Rupert, I can defend myself.” “True, true; but it’s your brain I want now, cousin.” “You shall see that I have something in me.” “If it please God, dear cousin.” With every mocking encouragement and every careless taunt Rischenheim’s resolve to prove himself a man grew stronger. He snatched up a revolver that lay on the mantelpiece and put it in his pocket. “Don’t fire, if you can help it,” advised Rupert. Rischenheim’s answer was to make for the door at a great speed. Rupert watched him go, and then returned to the window. The last his cousin saw was his figure standing straight and lithe against the light, while he looked out on the city. Still there was no stir in the streets, still the royal standard floated at the top of the flag staffs. Rischenheim plunged down the stairs: his feet were too slow for his eagerness. At the bottom he found the girl Rosa sweeping the passage with great apparent diligence. “You’re going out, my lord?” she asked. “Why, yes; I have business. Pray stand on one side, this passage is so cursedly narrow.” Rosa showed no haste in moving. “And the Count Rupert, is he going out also?” she asked. “You see he’s not with me. He’ll wait.” Rischenheim broke off and asked angrily: “What business is it of yours, girl? Get out of the way!” She moved aside now, making him no answer. He rushed past; she looked after him with a smile of triumph. Then she fell again to her sweeping. The king had bidden her be ready at eleven. It was half-past ten. Soon the king would have need of her. CHAPTER XIV. THE NEWS COMES TO STRELSAU ON leaving No. 19, Rischenheim walked swiftly some little way up the Konigstrasse and then hailed a cab. He had hardly raised his hand when he heard his name called, and, looking round, saw Anton von Strofzin’s smart phaeton pulling up beside him. Anton was driving, and on the other seat was a large nosegay of choice flowers. “Where are you off to?” cried Anton, leaning forward with a gay smile. “Well, where are you? To a lady’s, I presume, from your bouquet there,” answered Rischenheim as lightly as he could. “The little bunch of flowers,” simpered young Anton, “is a cousinly offering to Helga von Tarlenheim, and I’m going to present it. Can I give you a lift anywhere?”’