"Still it's strange that he doesn't come," murmured the queen,
shading her eyes with her hand, and looking along the road to
where the dark masses of the forest trees bounded our view. It
was already dusk, but not so dark but that we could have seen the
king's party as soon as it came into the open.
If the king's delay seemed strange at six, it was stranger at
seven, and by eight most strange. We had long since ceased to
talk lightly; by now we had lapsed into silence. Sapt's scoldings
had died away. The queen, wrapped in her furs (for it was very
cold), sat sometimes on a seat, but oftener paced restlessly to
and fro. Evening had fallen. We did not know what to do, nor even
whether we ought to do anything. Sapt would not own to sharing
our worst apprehensions, but his gloomy silence in face of our
surmises witnessed that he was in his heart as disturbed as we
were. For my part I had come to the end of my endurance, and I
cried, "For God's sake, let's act! Shall I go and seek him?"
"A needle in a bundle of hay," said Sapt with a shrug.
But at this instant my ear caught the sound of horses cantering
on the road from the forest; at the same moment Bernenstein
cried, "Here they come!" The queen paused, and we gathered round
her.
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