The three passed through the deserted corridors of the sleeping castle, taking a route at Barney’s suggestion that led them to the stable courtyard without necessitating traversing the main corridors or the great hall or the guardroom, in all of which there still were Austrian and Blentz soldiers, whose duties or pleasures had kept them from their blankets.

At the stables a sleepy groom answered the summons of the officer, whom Barney had warned not to divulge the identity of himself or the princess.  He left the princess in the shadows outside the building.  After what seemed an eternity to the American, three horses were led into the courtyard, saddled, and bridled.  The party mounted and approached the gates.  Here, Barney knew, might be encountered the most serious obstacle in their path.  He rode close to the side of their unwilling conductor.  Leaning forward in his saddle, he whispered in the man’s ear.

“Failure to pass us through the gates,” he said, “will be the signal for your death.”

The man reined in his mount and turned toward the American.

“I doubt if they will pass even me without a written order from Prince Peter,” he said.  “If they refuse, you must reveal your identity.  The guard is composed of Luthanians—­I doubt if they will dare refuse your majesty.”

Then they rode on up to the gates.  A soldier stepped from the sentry box and challenged them.

“Lower the drawbridge,” ordered the officer.  “It is Captain Krantzwort on a mission for the king.”

The soldier approached, raising a lantern, which he had brought from the sentry box, and inspected the captain’s face.  He seemed ill at ease.  In the light of the lantern, the American saw that he was scarce more than a boy—­doubtless a recruit.  He saw the expression of fear and awe with which he regarded the officer, and it occurred to him that the effect of the king’s presence upon him would be absolutely overpowering.  Still the soldier hesitated.

“My orders are very strict, sir,” he said.  “I am to let no one leave without a written order from Prince Peter.  If the sergeant or the lieutenant were here they would know what to do; but they are both at the castle—­only two other soldiers are at the gates with me.  Wait, and I will send one of them for the lieutenant.”

“No,” interposed the American.  “You will send for no one, my man.  Come closer—­look at my face.”

The soldier approached, holding his lantern above his head.  As its feeble rays fell upon the face and uniform of the man on horseback, the sentry gave a little gasp of astonishment.

“Now, lower the drawbridge,” said Barney Custer, “it is your king’s command.”

Quickly the fellow hastened to obey the order.  The chains creaked and the windlass groaned as the heavy planking sank to place across the moat.

As Barney passed the soldier he handed him the pardon Leopold had written for the American.