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The Sword Maker by Robert Barr
page 97 of 445 (21%)
"'Your Highness!' I cried in surprise. On the instant his sword was out,
and as the cloak fell from his face, displaying lips which took on a
sinister firmness, I saw that I was not mistaken in so accosting him. He
threw a quick glance from side to side, but the bridge, like the silent
streets, was deserted. We stood alone, beside the iron Cross, and there
under the Figure of Christ he denied me, with the sharp point of his
sword against my breast.

"'Why do you dare address me by such a title?'

"'You are Prince Roland, son of the Emperor.'

"The sword-point pressed more sharply.

"'You lie!' he cried, 'and if you reiterate that falsehood, you will pay
the penalty instantly with your life, despite your monkish cowl. I am
nobody. I have no father.'

"'May I ask, then, sir, who you are?'

"'You may ask, but there is no reason for me to answer. Nevertheless, to
satisfy your impertinent curiosity, I inform you that I am an
ironworker, a maker of swords, and if you desire a taste of my
handiwork, you have but to persist in your questioning. I lodge in the
laboring quarter of Sachsenhausen, and am now on my way into Frankfort,
which surely I have the right to enter free from any inquiry
unauthorized by the law.'

"'In that case I beg your pardon,' said I. 'The likeness is very
striking. I had once the honor to be chaplain at Court, where frequently
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