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This historic relic of the Konigstrasse had been the headquarters of one of the branches of these numerous societies; and the students still held to those ancient traditions. But men and epochs pass swiftly; only the inanimate remain. This temple of patriotism is simply an inn to-day, owned by one Stuler, and is designated by those who patronize it as "Old Stuler's."
The night following remittances was a glorious one both to Stuler and the students. There were new scars, new subjects for debate, and Stuler got rid of some of his prime tokayer. The politics of the students was socialism, which is to say they were always dissatisfied. Tourists seldom repeated their visits to Stuler's.
Old Stuler's was filled with smoke, students and tumult. Ill feeling ran high. There were many damaged heads, for the cuirassiers had not been niggard with their sabers. A student walked backward and forward on the stage, waving wildly with his hands to command attention. It was some time before he succeeded. "Fellow-students, brothers of freedom and comrades," he began.
"I shall want it, two nights from this, in case Madame the duchess does not conquer the Englishman. I shall want two fellows who will ask no questions, but who will follow my instructions to the letter. It is an abduction." "A nasty business," was Stuler's comment. "You have women to thank for your present occupation, Johann." "Stuler, you are a fool. It is not a woman; it is a crown." "Eh?"
"You are old, Stuler; you remember many things of the past. Do you recollect a prince of a noble Austrian house by the name of Walmoden, once an aide to the emperor, who was cashiered from the army and exiled for corresponding with France?" Stuler's hand shook as he brushed his forehead. "Yes, I recollect.
He ordered a stein of Hofbrau, and carried it into the main hall, which was just off the bar-room. It was much lighter here, though the hall had the tawdry appearance of a theater in the day-time; and the motes swam thickly in the beams of sunshine which entered through the half-closed shutters. It was only at night that Stuler's was presentable. Scarcely a dozen men sat at the tables.
Old Stuler's was thronged. Stuler himself looked on indifferently, even listlessly. He had heard of Kopf's death. It was half after five of the afternoon. Six miles beyond the Althofen bridge, in all thirteen miles from Bleiberg, a long, low cloud of dust hung over the king's highway.
There was too much spilling of beer in laps, dumping of pipe ash into uncovered steins, and knocking off of stiff hats. It was in front of Old Stuler's that Maurice came to a pause. He had heard of the place and the praise of its Hofbrau and Munich beers. He entered. He found the interior dark and gloomy, though outside the sun shone brilliantly.
"Four of you seek for Kopf. Look into Stuler's, in at the opera, and follow Kopf's woman home. I'll take it upon myself to telegraph the frontier to allow no one to cross on the pain of being shot. Pass the word to the officers in the stables. Hurry away before the archbishop hears of the matter. Away with you, and quietly.
Stuler's eyes bulged. "A crown. The duchess may remain a duchess. Who is master in Bleiberg to-day? At whose word the army moves or stands? At whose word the Osians fall or reign? On whom does the duchess rely? Who is king in deed, if not in fact? Who will find means to liquidate the kingdom's indebtedness, whoever may be the creditor?
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