What he realized most clearly was that the fact that the son of Stefan Loristan was being escorted in private state to the country his father had given his life’s work to, was never for a moment forgotten.  The Baron Rastka and Count Vorversk were of the dignity and courteous reserve which marks men of distinction.  Marco was not a mere boy to them, he was the son of Stefan Loristan; and they were Samavians.  They watched over him, not as Lazarus did, but with a gravity and forethought which somehow seemed to encircle him with a rampart.  Without any air of subservience, they constituted themselves his attendants.  His comfort, his pleasure, even his entertainment, were their private care.  The Rat felt sure they intended that, if possible, he should enjoy his journey, and that he should not be fatigued by it.  They conversed with him as The Rat had not known that men ever conversed with boys,—­until he had met Loristan.  It was plain that they knew what he would be most interested in, and that they were aware he was as familiar with the history of Samavia as they were themselves.  When he showed a disposition to hear of events which had occurred, they were as prompt to follow his lead as they would have been to follow the lead of a man.  That, The Rat argued with himself, was because Marco had lived so intimately with his father that his life had been more like a man’s than a boy’s and had trained him in mature thinking.  He was very quiet during the journey, and The Rat knew he was thinking all the time.

The night before they reached Melzarr, they slept at a town some hours distant from the capital.  They arrived at midnight and went to a quiet hotel.

“To-morrow,” said Marco, when The Rat had left him for the night, “to-morrow, we shall see him!  God be thanked!”

“God be thanked!” said The Rat, also.  And each saluted the other before they parted.

In the morning, Lazarus came into the bedroom with an air so solemn that it seemed as if the garments he carried in his hands were part of some religious ceremony.

“I am at your command, sir,” he said.  “And I bring you your uniform.”

He carried, in fact, a richly decorated Samavian uniform, and the first thing Marco had seen when he entered was that Lazarus himself was in uniform also.  His was the uniform of an officer of the King’s Body Guard.

“The Master,” he said, “asks that you wear this on your entrance to Melzarr.  I have a uniform, also, for your aide-de-camp.”

When Rastka and Vorversk appeared, they were in uniforms also.  It was a uniform which had a touch of the Orient in its picturesque splendor.  A short fur-bordered mantle hung by a jeweled chain from the shoulders, and there was much magnificent embroidery of color and gold.

“Sir, we must drive quickly to the station,” Baron Rastka said to Marco.  “These people are excitable and patriotic, and His Majesty wishes us to remain incognito, and avoid all chance of public demonstration until we reach the capital.”  They passed rather hurriedly through the hotel to the carriage which awaited them.  The Rat saw that something unusual was happening in the place.  Servants were scurrying round corners, and guests were coming out of their rooms and even hanging over the balustrades.