The crowd swayed forward in its eagerness to see the principal feature of the pageant—­the Emperor in his carriage.  The Rat swayed forward with the rest to look as it passed.

A handsome white-haired and mustached personage in splendid uniform decorated with jeweled orders and with a cascade of emerald-green plumes nodding in his military hat gravely saluted the shouting people on either side.  By him sat a man uniformed, decorated, and emerald-plumed also, but many years younger.

Marco’s arm touched The Rat’s almost at the same moment that his own touched Marco.  Under the nodding plumes each saw the rather tired and cynical pale face, a sketch of which was hidden in the slit in Marco’s sleeve.

“Is the one who sits with the Emperor an Archduke?” Marco asked the man nearest to him in the crowd.  The man answered amiably enough.  No, he was not, but he was a certain Prince, a descendant of the one who was the hero of the day.  He was a great favorite of the Emperor’s and was also a great personage, whose palace contained pictures celebrated throughout Europe.

“He pretends it is only pictures he cares for,” he went on, shrugging his shoulders and speaking to his wife, who had begun to listen, “but he is a clever one, who amuses himself with things he professes not to concern himself about—­big things.  It’s his way to look bored, and interested in nothing, but it’s said he’s a wizard for knowing dangerous secrets.”

“Does he live at the Hofburg with the Emperor?” asked the woman, craning her neck to look after the imperial carriage.

“No, but he’s often there.  The Emperor is lonely and bored too, no doubt, and this one has ways of making him forget his troubles.  It’s been told me that now and then the two dress themselves roughly, like common men, and go out into the city to see what it’s like to rub shoulders with the rest of the world.  I daresay it’s true.  I should like to try it myself once in a while, if I had to sit on a throne and wear a crown.”

The two boys followed the celebration to its end.  They managed to get near enough to see the entrance to the church where the service was held and to get a view of the ceremonies at the banner-draped and laurel-wreathed statue.  They saw the man with the pale face several times, but he was always so enclosed that it was not possible to get within yards of him.  It happened once, however, that he looked through a temporary break in the crowding people and saw a dark strong-featured and remarkably intent boy’s face, whose vivid scrutiny of him caught his eye.  There was something in the fixedness of its attention which caused him to look at it curiously for a few seconds, and Marco met his gaze squarely.

“Look at me!  Look at me!” the boy was saying to him mentally.  “I have a message for you.  A message!”

The tired eyes in the pale face rested on him with a certain growing light of interest and curiosity, but the crowding people moved and the temporary break closed up, so that the two could see each other no more.  Marco and The Rat were pushed backward by those taller and stronger than themselves until they were on the outskirts of the crowd.