"You
call very peremptorily," he continued, staring contemptuously.
"What's your business with me?"
With a violent start, the sergeant--for such the star on his
collar and the lace on his cuff proclaimed him--leant forward in
the saddle to look at the man whom he had hailed. Rudolf said
nothing and did not move. The man's eyes studied his face
intently. Then he sat bolt upright and saluted, his face dyed to
a deep red in his sudden confusion.
"And why do you salute me now?" asked Rudolf in a mocking tone.
"First you hunt me, then you salute me. By Heaven, I don't know
why you put yourself out at all about me!"
"I--I--" the fellow stuttered. Then trying a fresh start, he
stammered, "Your Majesty, I didn't know--I didn't suppose--"
Rudolf stepped towards him with a quick, decisive tread.
"And why do you call me 'Your Majesty'?" he asked, still
mockingly.
"It--it--isn't it your Majesty?"
Rudolf was close by him now, his hand on the horse's neck.
He looked up into the sergeant's face with steady eyes, saying:
"You make a mistake, my friend. I am not the king."
"You are not--?" stuttered the bewildered fellow.
"By no means. And, sergeant--?"
"Your Majesty?"
"Sir, you mean.
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