"My dear Rischenheim," pursued the king more kindly, "I can allow
for your natural affection. But, believe me, in this case it
misleads you. Do me the favor not to open this subject again to
me."
Rischenheim, humiliated and angry, could do nothing but bow in
acknowledgment of the king's rebuke.
"Colonel Sapt, see that the count is well entertained. My horse
should be at the door by now. Farewell, Count. Bernenstein, give
me your arm."
Bernenstein shot a rapid glance at the constable. Sapt nodded
reassuringly. Bernenstein sheathed his sword and gave his arm to
the king. They passed through the door, and Bernenstein closed it
with a backward push of his hand. But at this moment Rischenheim,
goaded to fury and desperate at the trick played on him--seeing,
moreover, that he had now only one man to deal with--made a
sudden rush at the door. He reached it, and his hand was on the
door-knob. But Sapt was upon him, and Sapt's revolver was at his
ear.
In the passage the king stopped.
"What are they doing in there?" he asked, hearing the noise of
the quick movements.
"I don't know, sire," said Bernenstein, and he took a step
forward.
"No, stop a minute, Lieutenant; you're pulling me along!"
"A thousand pardons, sire.
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