"Impossible!" I murmured. "I should be known."
"It's a risk—against a certainty," said Sapt.
"If you shave I'll wager you'll not be known. Are you afraid?"
"Sir!"
"Come, lad, there, there; but it's your life, you know, if you're known—and mine—and Fritz's here. But if you don't go I swear to you Black Michael will sit to-night on the throne, and the king lie in prison or his grave."
"The king would never forgive it," I stammered.
"Are we women? Who cares for his forgiveness?"
The clock ticked fifty times, and sixty and seventy times, as I stood in thought. Then I suppose a look came over my face, for old Sapt caught me by the hand, crying:
"You'll go?"
"Yes, I'll go," said I, and I turned my eyes on the prostrate figure of the king on the floor.
"To-night," Sapt went on in a hasty whisper, "we are to lodge in the palace. The moment they
