SOPHY OF KRAVONIA
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. Nobody seemed to listen; when she ended, nobody applauded. Mistitch 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. Mistitch rose from his chair, glass 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!" Mistitch 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 Mistitch 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 smart-
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