SOPHY OF KRAVONIA
modifications of his memory. But there—with that supply of a convenient fiction—his pliability stopped. He spoke to Markart, using him as a conduit-pipe—the words would flow through to General Stenovics.
"If the General doesn't want to see me now—and I can understand that he mustn't be caught confabbing with any supposed parties to the affair—you must make it plain to him how matters stand. Somehow and by some means our dear Hercules must be saved. Hercules is an ass; but so are most of the men and all the rowdies of Slavna. They love their Hercules, and they won't let him die without a fight —and a very big fight. In that fight what might happen to his Royal Highness the Commandant? And if anything did happen to him, what might happen to General Stenovics? I don't know that either, but it seems to me that he'd be in an awkward place. The King wouldn't be pleased with him; and we here in Slavna—are we going to trouble ourselves about the man who couldn't save our Hercules?"
Round-faced Markart nodded in a perplexed fashion. Stafnitz clapped him on the shoulder with a laugh.
"For Heaven's sake don't think about it or you'll get it all mixed! Just try to remember it. Your only business is to report what I say to the General."
Rastatz sniggered shrilly. When the wine was not in him, he was a cunning little rogue—a useful tool in any matter which did not ask for courage.
"If I'd been here, Mistitch wouldn't have done the thing at all—or done it better. But what's done is done. And we expect the General to stand by us. If he won't, we must act for ourselves—for there 'll be no bearing our dear Commandant if we sit down un-
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