"Go and sleep," said the prince to Maurice; "I will send an
orderly for you when the time comes." And with this he dashed up
the driveway to the main entrance of the palace, leaped from his
horse and disappeared.
Maurice wheeled and drove leisurely to the Continental, leaving
the amazed cuirassiers gaping after him. He experienced that
exuberance of spirits which always comes with a delightful day
dream. He forgot his weariness, his bruises. To mingle directly
in the affairs of kings and princes, to be a factor among
factors who surround and uphold thrones, seemed so at variance
with his republican learning that he was not sure that all this
was not one long dream--Fitzgerald and his consols, the meeting
with the princess, the adventures at Madame's chateau, the duel
with Beauvais, the last night's flight with the prince across
the mountains! Yes; he had fallen asleep somewhere and had been
whisked away into a kind of fairyland. Every one was in trouble
just now, as they always are in certain chapters of fairy tales,
but all would end happily, and then--he would wake.
Meanwhile the prince entered the palace and was proceeding up
the grand corridor, when a bared sword stayed his progress.
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