"You're punctual, my dear Rischenheim, and it's lucky, for the
king awaits you most impatiently."
"I didn't expect to find him up so soon," remarked Rischenheim.
"Up! He's been up these two hours. Indeed we've had the devil of
a time of it. Treat him carefully, my dear Count; he's in one of
his troublesome humors. For example--but I mustn't keep you
waiting. Pray follow me."
"No, but pray tell me. Otherwise I might say something
unfortunate."
"Well, he woke at six; and when the barber came to trim his beard
there were--imagine it, Count!--no less than seven gray hairs."
The king fell into a passion. "Take it off!" he said. "Take it
off. I won't have a gray beard! Take it off!' Well what would
you? A man is free to be shaved if he chooses, so much more a
king. So it's taken off."
"His beard!"
"His beard, my dear Count. Then, after thanking Heaven it was
gone, and declaring he looked ten years younger, he cried, "The
Count of Luzau-Rischenheim breakfasts with me to-day: what is
there for breakfast?" And he had the chef out his of bed
and--But, by heavens, I shall get into trouble if I stop here
chattering. He's waiting most eagerly for you. Come along.
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