CHAPTER XX. THE DECISION OF HEAVEN
WE were half mad that night, Sapt and Bernenstein and I. The
thing seemed to have got into our blood and to have become
part of ourselves. For us it was inevitable--nay, it was done.
Sapt busied himself in preparing the account of the fire at the
hunting-lodge; it was to be communicated to the journals, and it
told with much circumstantiality how Rudolf Rassendyll had come
to visit the king, with James his servant, and, the king being
summoned unexpectedly to the capital, had been awaiting his
Majesty's return when he met his fate. There was a short history
of Rudolf, a glancing reference to his family, a dignified
expression of condolence with his relatives, to whom the king was
sending messages of deepest regret by the hands of Mr.
Rassendyll's servant. At another table young Bernenstein was
drawing up, under the constable's direction, a narrative of
Rupert of Hentzau's attempt on the king's life and the king's
courage in defending himself. The count, eager to return (so it
ran), had persuaded the king to meet him by declaring that he
held a state-document of great importance and of a most secret
nature; the king, with his habitual fearlessness, had gone alone,
but only to refuse with scorn Count Rupert's terms.
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