quick forward lunge or rapid wary withdrawal. Her brain was
almost paralyzed.

Ignorant of the mind and heart of young Rupert, she could not conceive
that he tried to kill the king. Yet the words she had caught sounded
like the words of men quarreling, and she could not persuade herself
that the gentlemen fenced only for pastime. They were not speaking now;
but she heard their hard breathing and the movement of their unresting
feet on the bare boards of the floor. Then a cry rang out, clear and
merry with the fierce hope of triumph: "Nearly! nearly!"

She knew the voice for Rupert of Hentzau's, and it was the king who
answered calmly, "Nearly isn't quite."

Again she listened. They seemed to have paused for a moment, for there
was no sound, save of the hard breathing and deep-drawn pants of men who
rest an instant in the midst of intense exertion. Then came again the
clash and the slitherings; and one of them crossed into her view. She
knew the tall figure and she saw the red hair: it was the king. Backward
step by step he seemed to be driven, coming nearer and nearer to the
door. At last there was no more than a foot between him and her; only
the crazy panel prevented her putting out her hand to touch him. Again
the voice of Rupert rang out in rich exultation, "I have you now! Say
your prayers, King Rudolf!"

"Say your prayers!" Then they fought. It was earnest, not play. And it
was the king--her king--her dear king, who was in great peril of his
life. For an instant she knelt, still watching. Then with a low cry of
terror she turned and ran headlong down the steep stairs. Her mind could
not tell what to do, but her heart cried out that she must do something
for her king. Reaching the ground floor, she ran with wide-open eyes
into the kitchen. The stew was on the hob, the old woman still held the
spoon, but she had ceased to stir and fallen into a chair.

"He's killing the king! He's killing the king!" cried Rosa, seizing her
mother by the arm. "Mother, what shall we do? He's killing the king!"

The old woman looked up with dull eyes and a stupid, cunning smile.

"Let them alone," she said. "There's no king here."

"Yes, yes. He's upstairs in the count's room. They're fighting, he and
the Count of Hentzau. Mother, Count Rupert will kill--"

"Let them alone. He the king? He's no king," muttered the old woman
again.

For an instant Rosa stood looking down on her in helpless despair. Then
a light flashed into h