"And my coffee, and the wine," asked Mrs. Niclas, just entering with the drinks.
"We have no time to make use of them, madame," said the king, as he passed her, to leave the room.
But Madame Niclas held him back.
"No time to make use of them," she cried; "but I had to take time to make the coffee, and bring the wine from the cellar."
"Mais, mon Dieu, madame," said the impatient king.
"Mais, mon Dieu, monsieur, vous croyez que je travaillerai pour le roi de Prusse, c'est-a-dire sans paiement."
The king broke out into a hearty laugh, and Balby had to join him, but much against his will.
"Brother Henry," said the king, laughing, "that is a curious way of speaking; 'travailler pour le roi de Prusse,' means here to work for nothing. I beg you to convince this good woman that she has not worked for the King of Prussia, and pay her well. Madame, I have the honor to bid you farewell, and be assured it will always cheer me to think of you, and to recall your charming speech."
The king laughingly took his friend's arm, and nodded kindly to Madame Niclas as he went down the steps.
"I tell you what," said Madame Niclas, as she stood at the door with her husband, watching the departing strangers, who, in company with the guide and their servant, were walking down the street that led to the canal--"I tell you I do not trust those strangers, the little one in particular; he had a very suspicious look."
"But his passport was all right."
"But, nevertheless, all is not right with them. These strangers are disguised princes or robbers, I am fully convinced."
CHAPTER XIII. THE DRAG-BOAT.
What a crowd, what noise, what laughing and chatting! How bright and happy these people are who have nothing and are nothing! How gayly they laugh and talk together--with what stoical equanimity they regard the slow motion of the boat! They accept it as an unalterable necessity.
How kindly they assist each other; with what natural politeness the men leave the best seats for the women!
The boat is very much crowded. There are a great number of those amiable people who are nothing, and have nothing, moving from place to place cheerily.
The men on the shore who, with the aid of ropes, are pulling the boat, those two-legged horses, groan from exertion. The bagpipe player is making his gayest music, but in vain--he cannot allure the young people to dance; there is no place for dancing, the large deck of the boat is covered with human beings. Old men, and even women, are obliged to stand; the two long benches running down both sides of the boat are filled.
The king enjoyed the scene immensely. The free life about him, the entire indifference to his own person, charmed and delighted him. He leaned against the cabin, by which he was sitting, and regarded the crowd before him. Suddenly he was touched on the shoulder, and not in the gentlest manner. Looking up, he met the discontented face of a peasant, who was speaking violently, but in Dutch, and the king did not understand him; he therefore slightly shrugged his shoulders and remained quiet.
The angry peasant continued to gesticulate, and pointed excitedly at the ting and then at a pale young woman who was standing before him, and held two children in her arms.
The king still shrugged his shoulders silently, but when the peasant grasped him for the second time he waved him off, and his eye was so stern that the terrified and astonished peasant stepped back involuntarily.
At this moment a displeased murmur was heard among the crowd, and a number arranged themselves by the side of the peasant, who approached the king with a determined countenance.
The king remained sitting, and looked surprised at the threatening countenances of the people, whose angry words he tried in vain to comprehend.
The still increasing crowd was suddenly separated by two strong arms, and Balby, who had been sitting at the other end of the boat, now approached the king, accompanied by a friend, and placed himself at the king's side.
"Tell me what these men want, mon ami," said Frederick, hastily; "I do not understand Dutch."
"I understand it, sir," said the friend who accompanied Balby, "these people are reproaching you."
"Reproaching me! And why?"
The stranger turned to the peasant who had first spoken, and who now began to make himself heard again in loud and angry tones.
"Monsieur," said the stranger, "these good people are angry with you, and, it appears to me, not entirely without cause. There is a language that is understood without words, its vocabulary is in the heart. Here stands a poor, sick woman, with her twins in her arms. You, monsieur, are the only man seated. These good people think it would be but proper for you to resign your seat."
"This is unheard-of insolence," exclaimed Balby, placing him self determinedly before the king; "let any one dare advance a step farther, and I--"
"Quiet, cher frere, the people are right, and I am ashamed of myself that I did not understand them at once."
He rose and passed through the crowd with a calm, kindly face, and, not appearing to notice them, approached the young woman, who was kneeling, exhausted, on the floor. With a kind, sympathetic smile, he raised her and led her to his seat. There was something so noble and winning in his manner, that those who were so shortly before indignant, were unconsciously touched. A murmur of approval was heard; the rough faces beamed with friendly smiles.
The king did not observe this, he was still occupied with the poor woman, and, while appearing to play with the children, gave each of them a gold piece. But their little hands were not accustomed to carry such treasures, and could not hold them securely. The two gold pieces rolled to the ground, and the ringing noise announced the rich gift of Frederick. Loud cries of delight were heard, and the men waved their hats in the air. The king reddened, and looked down in confusion.
The peasant, who had first been so violent toward the king, and at whose feet the money had fallen, picked it up and gave it to the children; then, with a loud laugh, he offered his big, rough hand to the king, and said something in a kindly tone.
"The good man is thanking you, sir," said the stranger "He thinks you a clever, good-hearted fellow, and begs you to excuse his uncalled-for violence."
The king answered with a silent bow. He who was accustomed to receive the world's approval as his just tribute, was confused and ashamed at the applause of these poor people.
The king was right in saying he left his royalty on Prussian soil; he really was embarrassed at this publicity, and was glad when Deesen announced that lunch was prepared for him. He gave Balby a nod to follow, and withdrew into the cabin.
"Truly, if every-day life had so many adventures, I do not understand how any one can complain of ennui. Through what varied scenes I have passed to-day!"
"But our adventures arise from the peculiarity of our situation," said Balby. "All these little contretemps are annoying and disagreeable; but seem only amusing to a king in disguise."
"But a disguised king learns many things," said Frederick, smiling; "from to-day, I shall be no longer surprised to hear the police called a hateful institution. Vraiment, its authority and power is vexatious, but necessary. Never speak again of my god-like countenance, or the seal of greatness which the Creator has put upon the brow of princes to distinguish them from the rest of mankind. Mons. Niclas saw nothing great stamped upon my brow; to him I had the face of a criminal--my passport only made an honest man of me. Come, friends, let us refresh ourselves."
While eating, the king chatted pleasantly with Balby of the charming adventures of the day.
"Truly," he said, laughing, as the details of the scene on deck were discussed, "without the interference of that learned Dutchman, the King of Prussia would have been in dangerous and close contact with the respectable peasant. Ah, I did not even thank my protecting angel.
Did you speak to him, brother Henry? Where is he from, and what is his name?"
"I do not know, sir; but from his speech and manner he appeared to me to be an amiable and cultivated gentleman."
"Go and invite him to take a piece of pie with us. Tell him Mr. Zoller wishes to thank him for his assistance, and begs the honor of his acquaintance. You see, my friend, I am learning how to be polite, to flatter, and conciliate, as becomes a poor travelling musician. I beg you, choose your words well. Be civil, or he might refuse to come, and I thirst for company."
Balby returned in a few moments, with the stranger.
"Here, my friend," said Balby. "I bring you our deliverer in time of need. He will gladly take his share of the pie."
"And he richly deserves it," said the king, as he greeted the stranger politely. "Truly, monsieur, I am very much indebted to you, and this piece of pie that I have the honor to offer you is but a poor reward for your services. I believe I never saw larger fists than that terrible peasant's; a closer acquaintance with them would have been very disagreeable. I thank you for preventing it."
"Travellers make a variety of acquaintances," said the stranger, laughing, and seating himself on the bench by the king's side, with a familiarity that terrified Balby. "I count you, sir, among the agreeable ones, and I thank you for this privilege."
"I hope you will make the acquaintance of this pie, and find it agreeable," said the king. "Eat, monsieur, and let us chat in the mean while--Henry, why are you standing there so grave and respectful, not daring to be seated? I do not believe this gentleman to be a prince travelling incognito."