ine, you can put your
barrel against his head by just stretching out your hand. And of course
I can do the same."

"Yes, it looks well enough," said Sapt, with an approving nod. "What
about the beard?"

"Bernenstein is to tell him you've shaved this morning."

"Will he believe that?"

"Why not? For his own sake he'd better believe everything."

"And if we have to kill him?"

"We must run for it. The king would be furious."

"He's fond of him?"

"You forget. He wants to know about the dogs."

"True. You'll be in your place in time?"

"Of course."

Rudolf Rassendyll took a turn up and down the room. It was easy to see
that the events of the night had disturbed him. Sapt's thoughts were
running in a different channel.

"When we've done with this fellow, we must find Rupert," said he.

Rudolf started.

"Rupert? Rupert? True; I forgot. Of course we must," said he confusedly.

Sapt looked scornful; he knew that his companion's mind had been
occupied with the queen. But his remarks--if he had meditated any--were
interrupted by the clock striking seven.

"He'll be here in an hour," said he.

"We're ready for him," answered Rudolf Rassendyll. With the thought of
action his eyes grew bright and his brow smooth again. He and old Sapt
looked at one another, and they both smiled.

"Like old times, isn't it, Sapt?"

"Aye, sire, like the reign of good King Rudolf."

Thus they made ready for the Count of Luzau-Rischenheim, while my cursed
wound held me a prisoner at Wintenberg. It is still a sorrow to me that
I know what passed that morning only by report, and had not the honor
of bearing a part in it. Still, her Majesty did not forget me, but
remembered that I would have taken my share, had fortune allowed. Indeed
I would most eagerly.

CHAPTER V. AN AUDIENCE OF THE KING

Having come thus far in the story that I set out to tell, I have half a
mind to lay down my pen, and leave untold how from the moment that Mr.
Rassendyll came again to Zenda a fury of chance seemed to catch us all
in a whirlwind, carrying us whither we would not, and ever driving us
onwards to fresh enterprises, breathing into us a recklessness that
stood at no obstacle, and a devotion to the queen and to the man she
loved that swept away all other feeling. The ancients held there to be a
fate which would have its fill, though women wept and men died, and
none could tell whose was the guilt nor who fell innocent. Thus did they
blindl