Heigho! and not a soul in Bleiberg knows
me, nor cares.
"I'd rather talk five minutes to a pretty woman than eat stuffed
pheasants the year around, and the stuffed pheasant is about all
Bleiberg can boast of. Well, here goes for a voyage of discovery;"
and he passed down the stone steps to the pier, quite unconscious
of the admiring glances of the women who fluttered back and forth
on the wide balconies above.
It was four o'clock in the afternoon; a fresh wind redolent of
pine and resin blew across the lake. Maurice climbed into a boat
and pulled away with a strong, swift stroke, enjoying the
liberation of his muscles. A quarter of a mile out he let the
oars drift and took his bearings. He saw the private gardens of
the king and the archbishop, and, convinced that a closer view
would afford him entertainment, he caught up the oars again and
moved inland.
The royal gardens ran directly into the water, while those of
the archbishop were protected by a wall of brick five or six
feet in height, in the center of which was a gate opening on the
water. Behind the gate was a small boat dock. Maurice plied the
oars vigorously.
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