Rischenheim rose to his feet.
"You stay, if you like," said Rudolf, and the count knelt again
by his kinsman.
Seeing the rough bedsteads by the wall of the attic, I touched
Rischenheim on the shoulder and pointed to one of them. Together
we lifted Rupert of Hentzau. The revolver was still in his hand,
but Bernenstein disengaged it from his grasp. Then Rischenheim
and I laid him down, disposing his body decently and spreading
over it his riding cloak, still spotted with the mud gathered on
his midnight expedition to the hunting-lodge. His face looked
much as before the shot was fired; in death, as in life, he was
the handsomest fellow in all Ruritania. I wager that many tender
hearts ached and many bright eyes were dimmed for him when the
news of his guilt and death went forth. There are ladies still in
Strelsau who wear his trinkets in an ashamed devotion that cannot
forget. Well, even I, who had every good cause to hate and scorn
him, set the hair smooth on his brow; while Rischenheim was
sobbing like a child, and young Bernenstein rested his head on
his arm as he leant on the mantelpiece, and would not look at the
dead. Rudolf alone seemed not to heed him or think of him.
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