"Eloped?" we all cried, being more or less familiar with the state of affairs at the palace.
"She has been missing since seven o'clock, when she drove away on the pretense of visiting her father's old steward, who is ill," went on Max, feeling the importance of his news. "They traced her there. From the steward's the carriage was driven south, and that's the last seen of her. There won't be any wedding at the cathedral next Tuesday,"--laughing.
Queries and answers were going crisscross over the table, when I observed with dread that Lieutenant von Störer had risen and was coming our way. He stopped at Max's side. Max looked up to receive Von Störer's glove full on the cheek. It was no gentle stroke. Von Störer at once returned to his table and sat down.
For a moment we were all absolutely without power of motion or of speech, Max's face grew as white as the table-cloth, and the print of the glove glowed red against the white. I was horrified, for I knew his tremendous strength. If he showed fight, Von Störer would calmly saber him. It was the custom. But Max surprised me. He was the coolest among us, but of that quality of coolness which did not reassure me. He took up his story where he had left off and finished it. For his remarkable control I could have taken him in my arms and hugged him.
The officers scowled, while Von Störer bit his mustache nervously. The American had ignored his insult. Presently he rose again and approached. He thrust a card under Max's nose.
"Can you understand that?" he asked contemptuously.
Max took the card, ripped it into quarters and dropped these to the floor. Then, to my terror and the terror of those with me, he tranquilly pulled out a murderous-looking Colt and laid it beside his plate. He went on talking, but none of us heard a word he said. We were fearfully waiting to see him kill some one or be killed.
No one was killed. The officers hurriedly took down their sabers and made a bee-line for the door of which I have spoken.
Max returned the revolver to his hip-pocket and gave vent to an Homeric laugh.
"You tow-headed Dutchman!" I cried, when I found voice for my words, "what have you done?"
"Done? Why, it looks as if we had all the downs this half," he replied smartly. "Oh, the gun isn't loaded,"--confidentially.