"And I?" asked Deesen, respectfully. "Will your majesty be so gracious as to tell me your name?"
"I am Mr. Zoller, travelling musician, and should any one ask you what I want in Amsterdam, tell them I intend giving a concert. En avant, mes amis. There lies the first small village of Holland, in an hour we shall be there, and then we will take the stage and go a little into the interior. En avant, en avant!"
CHAPTER XII. TRAVELLING ADVENTURES.
The stage stood before the tavern at Grave, and awaited its passengers.
The departure of the stage was an important occurrence to the inhabitants of the little town--an occurrence that disturbed the monotony of their lives for a few moments, and showed them at least now and then a new face, that gave them something to think of, and made them dream of the far-off city where the envied travellers were going.
Today all Grave was in commotion and excitement. The strangers had arrived at the post-house, and after partaking of an excellent dinner, engaged three seats in the stage. The good people of Grave hoped to see three strange faces looking out of the stage window; many were the surmises of their destiny and their possible motives for travelling.
They commenced these investigations while the strangers were still with them.
A man had seen them enter the city, dusty and exhausted, and he declared that the glance which the two men in brown coats had cast at his young wife, who had come to the window at his call, was very bold--yes, even suspicious, and it seemed very remarkable to him that such plain, ordinary looking wanderers should have a servant, for, doubtless, the man walking behind them, carrying the very small carpet-bag, was their servant; but, truly, he appeared to be a proud person, and had the haughty bearing of a general or a field-marshal, he would not even return the friendly greetings of the people he passed. His masters could not be distinguished or rich, for both of them carried a case under their arms. What could be in those long cases, what secret was hidden there? Perhaps they held pistols, and the good people of Grave would have to deal with robbers or murderers. The appearance of the strangers was wild and bold enough to allow of the worst suspicions.
The whole town, as before mentioned, was in commotion, and all were anxious to see the three strangers, about whom there was certainly something mysterious. They had the manners and bearing of noblemen, but were dressed like common men.
A crowd of idlers had assembled before the post-house, whispering and staring at the windows of the guests' rooms. At last their curiosity was about to be gratified, at last the servant appeared with the little carpet-bag, and placed it in the stage, and returned for the two cases, whose contents they would so greedily have known. The postilion blew his horn, the moment of departure had arrived.
A murmur was heard through the crowd, the strangers appeared, they approached the stage, and with such haughty and commanding glances that the men nearest them stepped timidly back.
The postilion sounded his horn again, the strangers were entering the stage. At the door stood the postmaster, and behind him his wife, the commanding postmistress.
"Niclas," she whispered, "I must and will know who these strangers are.
Go and demand their passports."
The obedient Niclas stepped out and cried in a thundering voice to the postilion, who was just about to start, to wait. Stepping to the stage, he opened the door.
"Your passports, gentlemen," he said, roughly. "You forgot to show me your passports."
The curious observers breathed more freely, and nodded encouragingly to the daring postmaster.
"You rejoice," murmured his wife, who was still standing in the door, from whence she saw all that passed, and seemed to divine the thoughts of her gaping friends--"you rejoice, but you shall know nothing. I shall not satisfy your curiosity."
Mr. Niclas still stood at the door of the stage. His demand had not been attended to; he repeated it for the third time.
"Is it customary here to demand passports of travellers?" asked a commanding voice from the stage.
Niclas, and taking the two mysterious cases from the stage, he placed them before the strangers.
"Let us go into the house," whispered the king to his friends. "We must make bonne mine a mauvais jeu," and he approached the door of the house--there stood the wife of the postmaster, with sparkling eyes and a malicious grin.
"The postilion is going, and you will lose your money," she said, "they never return money when once they have it."
"Ah! I thought that was only a habit of the church," said the king, laughing. "Nevertheless, the postmaster can keep what he has. Will you have the kindness to show me a room, where I can open my bag at leisure, and send some coffee and good wine to us?"
There was something so commanding in the king's voice, so imposing in his whole appearance, that even the all-conquering Madame Niclas felt awed, and she silently stepped forward and showed him her best room. The servant followed with the two cases and the bag, and laid them upon the table, then placed himself at the door.
"Now, madame, leave us," ordered the king, "and do as I told you."
Madame Niclas left, and the gentlemen were once more alone.
"Now, what shall we do?" said the king, smilingly. "I believe there is danger of our wonderful trip falling through."
"It is only necessary for your majesty to make yourself known to the postmaster," said Colonel Balby.
"And if he will not believe me, this fripon who declares that no one could tell by my appearance whether I was a rascal or not, this dull-eyed simpleton, who will not see the royal mark upon my brow, which my courtiers see so plainly written there? No, no, my friend, that is not the way. We have undertaken to travel as ordinary men--we must now see how common men get through the world. It is necessary to show the police that we are at least honest men. Happily, I believe I have the means to do so at hand. Open our ominous bag, friend Balby, I think you will discover my portfolio, and in it a few blank passes, and my state seal."
Colonel Balby did as the king ordered, and drew from the bag the portfolio, with its precious contents.
The king bade Balby sit down and fill up the blanks at his dictation.
The pass was drawn up for the two brothers, Frederick and Henry Zoller, accompanied by their servant, with the intention of travelling through Holland.
The king placed his signature under this important document.
"Now, it is only necessary to put the state seal under it, and we shall be free; but how will we get a light?"
"I cannot tell who is a rascal, you may be one for aught I know."
Balby uttered an angry exclamation and stepped nearer to the daring postmaster, while his servant shook his fist threateningly at Niclas.
The king dispelled their anger with a single glance.
"Sir," he said to Niclas, "God made my face, and it is not my fault if it does not please you, but concerning our passports, they are lying well preserved in my carpet-bag. I should think that would suffice you."
"No, that does not suffice me," screamed Niclas. "Show me your passports if I am to believe that you are not vagabonds."
"You dare to call us vagabonds?" cried the king, whose patience now also appeared exhausted, and whose clear brow was slightly clouded.
"The police consider everyone criminal until he has proved he is not so," said Niclas, emphatically.
The king's anger was already subdued.
"In the eyes of the police, criminality is then the normal condition of mankind," he said, smilingly.
"Sir, you have no right to question the police so pointedly," said Niclas, sternly. "You are here to be questioned, and not to question."
The king laughingly arrested the uplifted arm of his companion.
"Mon Dieu," he murmured, "do you not see that this is amusing me highly?
Ask, sir, I am ready to answer."
"Have you a pass?"
"Yes, sir."