THE NAME-DAY OF THE KING
"That we all wanted the Prince to marry?"
"I made only the most general reference to that, sir."
"That—" he looked harder at his young friend "the Prince is not popular with the army?"
"On my honor, no!"
"Think, think, Markart."
Markart searched his memory; under interrogation it accused him; his face grew rueful.
"I did wish he was more like his Majesty. I—I did say he was a Tartar."
Stenovics chuckled in apparent satisfaction at his own perspicacity. But his only comment was: "Then your remarkably handsome young friend knows something about us already. You're an admirable cicerone to a stranger, Markart."
"I hope you're not annoyed, sir. I—I didn't tell any secrets?"
"Certainly not, Markart. Three bits of gossip and one lie don't make up a secret between them. Come, we must get along."
Markart's face cleared; but he observed that the General did not tell him which was the lie.
This day Sophy began the diary; the first entry is dated that afternoon. Her prescience—or presentiment—was not at fault. From to-day events moved fast, and she was strangely caught up in the revolutions of the wheel.
