The kitchen door opened and the burst of light revealed a
belated serving maid. A moment passed, and all became dark again. But
Johann felt a strange weakness in his knees, and a peculiar thrill at
the roots of his hair. He dared not move for three or four minutes. But
he waited in vain for other steps. He cursed the serving maid for the
fright, disposed of the ladder, and sought the street. He directed his
steps toward Stuler's.

"The pig of an Englishman was deeper than I thought. In the gun barrels,
the gun barrels! If I had not wanted to play they would have been there
yet! A hundred thousand crowns!"

It had ceased to rain, and a frost was congealing the moisture under
foot. On the way back to Stuler's Johann slipped and fell several times;
but he was impervious to pain, bruises were nothing. He was rich! He
laughed; and from time to time thrust his hand into his vest to convince
himself that he was not dreaming. To whom should he sell? To the Osians?
To the duchess? To the king that was to be? Who would pay quickest the
hundred thousand crowns? He knew. Aye, two hundred thousand would not be
too much. The Englishman would send for the certificates, but his agent
would not find them. The abduction? He would carry it through as he
had promised. It was five thousand crowns in addition to his hundred
thousand. He was rich! He shook his hand toward the inky sky, toward
the palace, toward all that signified the past..... A hundred thousand
crowns!

CHAPTER XVI. WHAT HAPPENED AT THE ARCHBISHOP'S PALACE AND AFTER

Maurice, as he labored before his mirror, wondered why in the world it
took him so long to dress. An hour had passed since he began his evening
toilet; yet here he was, still tinkering, so to speak, over the last
of a dozen cravats. The eleven others lay strewn about, hopelessly
crumpled; mute witnesses of angry fingers and impassioned mutterings.
Usually he could slip into his evening clothes in less than thirty
minutes. Something was wrong. But perhaps this occasion was not usual.

First, the hems of his trousers were insurgent; they persisted in
hitching on the tops of his button shoes. Laces were substituted. Then
came a desultory period, during which gold buttons were exchanged for
pearl and pearl for gold, and two-button shirts for three-button. For
Maurice was something of a dandy. He could not imagine what was the
matter with his neck, all the collars seemed so small. For once his
mishaps did