arried of court
honors, though his post in early days had been envied by many. He was
above all else a soldier, the embodiment of patience and integrity, and
he scorned to murmur because fortune had passed over his head. As he
sucked at his pipe, he recalled the days of Albrecht and his opera
singers, the court scandals, and his own constant employment as
messenger in the king's love intrigues.

Albrecht had died a widower and childless, and with him had died the
flower of court life. The courtiers and sycophants had flocked to the
standard of the duke, and had remained there, primarily because Leopold
of Osia promised a sedate and exemplary life. Sometimes the Captain
shook his head, as if communing with some unpleasant thought. On each
side of him sat a soldier, also smoking and ruminating.

At the mess table a dozen or so whiled away the time at cards. The
wavering lights of the candle and hearth cast warring shadows on the
wall and floor, and the gun and saber racks twinkled. If the players
spoke, it was in tones inaudible to the Captain's ears.

"Our bread and butter," said the Captain softly, "are likely to take
unto themselves the proverbial wings and fly away."

No one replied. The Captain was a man who frequently spoke his thoughts
aloud, and required no one to reply to his disjointed utterances.

"A soldier of fortune," he went on, "pins his faith and zeal to
standards which to-day rise and to-morrow fall. Unfortunately, he takes
it at flood tide, which immediately begins to ebb."

The men on either side of him nodded wisely.

"The king can no longer speak. That is why the archbishop has dismissed
the cabinet. While he could speak, his Majesty refused to listen to the
downfall of his enemies. Why? Look to heaven; heaven only can answer.
How many men of the native troops are quartered in these buildings? Not
one--which is bad. Formerly they were in the majority. Extraordinary.
His Majesty would have made friends with them, but the archbishop, an
estimable man in his robes, practically ostracized them. Bad, very bad.
Had we been comrades, there might be a different end.

"Faugh! if one of us sticks his head into the city barracks a breath
of ice is our reward. Kronau never attends the receptions. A little
flattery, which costs nothing, and they would have been willing to die
for his Majesty. Now--" He knocked his pipe on the firedog. "Now,
they would not lift a finger. A soldier will forgive all things b