Rudolf had not passed out of the
porch, and we supposed that he had betaken himself to the
gardens, there to fight his battle. Old Sapt, having done his
work, suddenly turned talkative.
"That moon there," he said, pointing his square, thick forefinger
at the window, "is a mighty untrustworthy lady. I've known her
wake a villain's conscience before now."
"I've known her send a lover's to sleep," laughed young
Bernenstein, rising from his table, stretching himself, and
lighting a cigar.
"Ay, she's apt to take a man out of what he is," pursued old
Sapt. "Set a quiet man near her, and he dreams of battle; an
ambitious fellow, after ten minutes of her, will ask nothing
better than to muse all his life away. I don't trust her, Fritz;
I wish the night were dark."
"What will she do to Rudolf Rassendyll?" I asked, falling in with
the old fellow's whimsical mood.
"He will see the queen's face in hers," cried Bernenstein.
"He may see God's," said Sapt; and he shook himself as though an
unwelcome thought had found its way to his mind and lips.
A pause fell on us, born of the colonel's last remark. We looked
one another in the face. At last Sapt brought his hand down on
the table with a bang.
Pages:
338
339
340
341
342
343
344
345
346
347
348
349
350
351
352
353
354
355
356
357
358
359
360
361
362