he was to-day. For a
long time he had not enjoyed such refreshing sleep as on the day when he
signed the warrant for the queen's imprisonment. But he thought nothing
at all about it. Sleep seemed to have obliterated all recollection of it
from his memory. Like an anecdote which you listen to, and smile at for
the moment, but soon forget, so had the whole occurrence vanished
again from him. It was an anecdote of the moment--a transient
interlude--nothing further.

The king had slept well, and he had no care for anything else. He
stretched himself, and lay lounging on his couch, thinking with rapture
how fine it would be if he could enjoy such sweet and refreshing repose
every day, and if no bad dreams and no fear would frighten away sleep
from his eyes. He felt very serene and very good-humored; and had any
one now come to beg a favor of the king, he would have granted it in the
first joy after such invigorating sleep. But he was alone; no one was
with him; he must repress his gracious desires. But no. Was it not as
though something were stirring and breathing behind the curtains?
The king threw back the curtains, and a soft smile flitted over his
features; for before his bed sat the queen. There she sat with rosy
cheeks and sparkling eyes, and greeted him with a roguish smile.

"Ah, Kate, it is you!" cried the king. "Well, now, I understand how it
happened that I have had such a sound and refreshing sleep! You stood
by as my good angel, and scared the pains and bad dreams away from my
couch."

And as he said this, he reached out his hand and tenderly stroked her
velvet cheek. He did not at all recollect that he had already, as it
were, devoted that charming head to the scaffold, and that in a few
hours more those bright eyes were to behold naught but the night of
the dungeon. Sleep, as we have said, had lulled to rest also the
recollection of this; and the evil thoughts had not yet awoke again in
him. To sign an order of arrest or a death-warrant was with the king
such a usual and every-day matter, that it constituted no epoch in his
life, and neither burdened him with troubles of conscience nor made his
heart shudder and tremble.

But Catharine thought of it, and as the king's hand stroked her cheek,
it was as though death were just then touching her, never again to
release her. However, she overcame this momentary horror, and had the
courage to preserve her serene and innocent air.

"You call me your good angel