It chafed him to be
regarded as a harmless individual, for he knew that he was far from
being in that class. There was a wild strain in him. Dreiberg might have
waked up some fine morning to learn that for a second time her princess
had been stolen, and that there was a vacancy in the American consulate.
How many times had he been seized with the mad desire to snatch the
bridle of her horse and ride away with her into a far country! How often
had his arms started out toward her, only to drop stiffly to his sides!
March hares! They were Solons as compared with his own futile madness.
But it was different now. She was to marry the king of Jugendheit; it
was in the order of things that he ride alone. He knew that court
etiquette demanded the isolation of the Princess Hildegarde from male
escort other than that formally provided. The two soldiers detailed to
act as her grooms or bodyguards were not, of course, to be considered.
So, of the morning, he went down to the military field to watch the
maneuvers, which were drawing to a close; or rode out to the frontier,
or took the side road to Eissen, where the summer palaces were. But it
was all dreary; the zest of living had somehow dropped out of things.
The road to Eissen began about six miles north of the base of the
Dreiberg mountain.
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