He would have wished there was room for two if he had seen Marco marching to the stake.  As the gardens emptied, the boys rose and walked round once more, as if on their way out.  By the time they had sauntered toward the big evergreen, nobody was in the Fountain Garden, and the last loiterers were moving toward the arched stone entrance to the streets.

When they drew near one side of the evergreen, the two were together.  When The Rat swung out on the other side of it, he was alone!  No one noticed that anything had happened; no one looked back.  So The Rat swung down the walks and round the flower-beds and passed into the street.  And the portier looked at the sky and made his remark about the “crashes” and “cataracts.”

As the darkness came on, the hollow in the shrub seemed a very safe place.  It was not in the least likely that any one would enter the closed gardens; and if by rare chance some servant passed through, he would not be in search of people who wished to watch all night in the middle of an evergreen instead of going to bed and to sleep.  The hollow was well inclosed with greenery, and there was room to sit down when one was tired of standing.

Marco stood for a long time because, by doing so, he could see plainly the windows opening on the balcony if he gently pushed aside some flexible young boughs.  He had managed to discover in his first visit to the gardens that the windows overlooking the Fountain Garden were those which belonged to the Prince’s own suite of rooms.  Those which opened on to the balcony lighted his favorite apartment, which contained his best-loved books and pictures and in which he spent most of his secluded leisure hours.

Marco watched these windows anxiously.  If the Prince had not gone to Budapest,—­if he were really only in retreat, and hiding from his gay world among his treasures,—­he would be living in his favorite rooms and lights would show themselves.  And if there were lights, he might pass before a window because, since he was inclosed in his garden, he need not fear being seen.  The twilight deepened into darkness and, because of the heavy clouds, it was very dense.  Faint gleams showed themselves in the lower part of the palace, but none was lighted in the windows Marco watched.  He waited so long that it became evident that none was to be lighted at all.  At last he loosed his hold on the young boughs and, after standing a few moments in thought, sat down upon the earth in the midst of his embowered tent.  The Prince was not in his retreat; he was probably not in Vienna, and the rumor of his journey to Budapest had no doubt been true.  So much time lost through making a mistake—­but it was best to have made the venture.  Not to have made it would have been to lose a chance.  The entrance was closed for the night and there was no getting out of the gardens until they were opened for the next day.  He must stay in his hiding-place until the